The Vatican Jewel
by Amy Wendys
Summary: What if Pope Sixtus IV didn't have a son, but a daughter? What if the bellicose Holy Father decided to use her as a weapon for his devious plans, taking advantage of the surprise effect? What would have happened if she had the task of attacking Florence and obtaining the services of the brilliant artist Leonardo da Vinci?
1. Chapter 1 - The Hierophant

_**The Vatican Jewel **_

**Chapter 1 - The Hierophant **

In tarots, the Hierophant's card represents fruitfulness of thought that generates knowledge, information. It is wisdom, sacredness, divination, gnosis. It indicates faith and religion, meditation and modesty.

On the negative side, however, it reflects hidden grudges, fanaticism. It can generate intolerance and rebellion.

«Our men succeeded, Your Grace!», exclaimed Lupo Mercuri, throwing open the doors leading to the Vatican's baths. «Sforza is dead».

Behind him, Francesco Pazzi rolled his eyes because of all that noise, not helped by the protests of the guards who intimated the two guests to leave His Holiness in peace.

Pope Sixtus, instead, did not seem too bothered by the visit. He carelessly abandoned the little boy he was entertaining himself with in the bathtub and walked out striding to reach the two men. He raised just one hand up, to discharge the guards at the entrance of the room, and waited to see them leaving before continuing the conversation. At that point, he brought his attention back to Francesco Pazzi.

«Florence is ripe for the picking, Your Eminence» the Florentine immediately replied, realizing that that look was a tacit question. «Believe me», he added, bowing to be able to kiss the papal ring.

Meanwhile, Cardinal Mercuri grabbed the Pope's robe, and helped him wearing it.

«You know this how?», asked Sixtus, distrustfully.

«Because I have an agent within Lorenzo's ranks», Lupo promptly replied, carefully fixing the heavy, richly decorated suit.

«And what else do you know?», asked the pope again, not at all convinced.

«The Medici are throwing a Carnival, in a pathetic bid to win the people's favor», continued the Florentine, carrying his hands behind his back in a rigid and solemn pose. «They are weak, but they try to divert people's attention with frivolities like this», he added, with an annoyed expression.

«Holiness...», intruded Lupo Mercuri, with an all-thrilled smile that only annoyed Sixtus even more. «This is your chance to strike», he added softly, like a child waiting for nothing but the permission to play.

In response, the Pope snorted annoyedly: rather than a discussion of political moves and tactics, it seemed to him to be dealing with little boys. He didn't trust at all those two poor henchmen, and he knew that a mission of that caliber needed a different guide.

As if someone had read his mind, the guards outside the door knocked five times, the predetermined signal announcing the guest before even opening the entrance.

«Please», he replied at once, knowing that the solution he was thinking of was right out there.

The massive wooden door opened with a slight squeak, and it was immediately followed by the sound of slow, measured steps on the marble of the hall.

The two guests turned confused and inquisitive, while Sixtus let slip a satisfied smile.

«Gentlemen...», the Pope began, with a note of pride. «I present you one of the Vatican's most precious jewels».

The newly-entered guest allowed to herself a smugly smile as she reached the small group. Once in front of Sixtus, she hinted at a bow, but not even such a humble gesture scratched her proud and haughty attitude.

Neither did the completely black clothes, a hallmark of the Vatican uniform with only a little hint of white brought by the symbol of the Church sewn on the chest, nor the hair gathered in an elaborate and austere hairstyle, much less the sword or the stiletto in the belt... None of this affected her beauty or femininity, not even a bit. Her gaze, lively and proud, manifested all her confidence, and would have been able to subdue anyone in a blink.

«Holy Father», said the young woman, decisively.

In response, the man raised a hand and pointed her at the two guests.

«My niece, and countess, Gemma Riario», said the Pope, with a satisfied grin.

A little surprised, Francesco Pazzi just bend his head in a nod. On the contrary, Cardinal Mercuri improvised himself being a gentleman and bowed in a gallant hand kiss. In all likelihood, it was a way like any other to ingratiate His Holiness, after seeing the pride he showed towards the young woman.

«I have heard wonderfully of you», the cardinal continued, with a smile of flattery, but the Countess didn't bother to answer except for a nod of assent.

«A woman, Your Holiness? », asked Francesco Pazzi, instead, doing nothing to conceal his skepticism.

«I advise you not to underestimate her», Sixtus readily retorted, hardening the tone of his voice. «It is one of the best weapons available to the Holy Roman Church».

«It is never wise to be deceived by appearances», added Countess Riario, with a smile of mocking kindness that surely did not conceal a note of warning.

Sensing that the situation was evolving against him, the Florentine pretended the best of the expressions of condescension, and strove to please Pope Sixtus.

«Surely you have the element of surprise», the man replied, nodding. «An unusual tactic, but very interesting».

Gemma Riario was very well used to such reactions and comments, and over the years she had learned to let any mistrust from others roll off her back: sooner or later, everyone realized what a huge mistake it was to believe her to be harmless, and the satisfaction of seeing their expressions getting intimidated, realizing how dangerous she really was, was an excellent reward.

«You will soon have proof of my worth, you don't have to worry», replied the Countess, with a smile of fake courtesy.

At that statement, both Francesco Pazzi and Lupo Mercuri turned to Pope Sixtus, the expression of their faces vaguely confused in a tacit request for explanations.

«I am sure that my niece will be more than a valid help in our plan against the Medici», the Pope explained, better settling his robe. «Something to the contrary, by chance?», he added, an absolutely rhetorical question.

«No, of course not», the two promptly replied, prompting Gemma to smile with satisfaction: such two frightened pooches.

«So get on with it», His Holiness said, returning stern.

«Absolutely», Francesco Pazzi assured him.

«There is another reason for haste», added Lupo Mercuri, becoming gloomier. «The Turk has arrived in Florence. He's after the Book of Leaves».

At those words Gemma also returned serious and turned to the cardinal. Sixtus, on the other hand, evidently annoyed by having named that artifact as if its importance could surpass ending the Medici dynasty, mumbled something incomprehensible and went away striding across the room.

Before reaching the door, however, he turned one last time, and glanced coldly and sternly at his niece. Cardinal Mercuri and Francesco Pazzi looked confused, but Gemma understood perfectly what had just been ordered to her, without even needing a word. She nodded, and Sixtus finally left the hall.

The Countess, on the other hand, turned to the bathtub and bent her lips into a smile imbued with falsehood and sarcasm, as she slowly approached the stairs lapped by the hot water, her gaze was pointed at the young boy who, for the whole time of the conversation, had remained seated in silence.

«I'm... truly sorry», she muttered, slightly bending her head to the side as she plunged into the water.

«Why?», the boy stammered, with a thread of voice.

Gemma's hand slid silently to her belt and clenched around the grip of the stiletto, but her gaze remained still in the young man's eyes.

«Because you can't have heard this», she simply replied.

In an instant, her expression became cold and apathetic, as if suddenly she had lost every ability to feel any emotion, and it remained so, as she drew the weapon from her belt and with a sharp act cut the boy's throat. The victim could emit anything but a choked groan as he fell back into the water, that was slowly becoming scarlet red.

Gemma dipped the stiletto in the tub, cleaning it up from the blood, and then stored it back in the belt with a fluid and elegant movement. She turned to the two guests, who had meanwhile been petrified in front of that scene, their expressions were utterly frozen.

The Countess emerged from the bathtub, and joined them on the marble walkway, as if nothing had happened. At the very least, she had already shown them how unfounded any prejudice was.

«Well, gentlemen», Gemma began, joining her hands in front of her. «Shall we pursue?»

\- About me -

Hi everyone!

I'm so happy to finally be here!

First of all, I would like to put here a little "disclaimer": English is not my first language, I'm Italian and I first wrote this story in Italian, but I was (and I still am) so proud of the character of Countess Gemma Riario that I decided to challenge myself translating it in English. I hope I've done a good work, but if there is any mistake please let me know, I'll correct it and it will be also an improvement for my English.

Other than that, I hope you'll like the story, I worked a lot on it and on this new character.

My goal was to rewrite the whole first season with Gemma instead of Girolamo, and maybe now the new goal will be to translate all of the 19 chapters of the story. If you'll like the first few chapters, it will be a pleasure to continue.

Also, it would mean the world to me if you would leave a comment, even just a few words.

Thanks for everything!

Kisses

Amy Wendys

5


	2. Chapter 2 - Temperance

_**The Vatican Jewel**_

**Chapter 2 - Temperance **

In tarots, the Temperance card is natural medicine, energy flowing to transfuse strength, to heal, to transform. Temperance that leads to look with a sense of indifference to everything that life presents in the form of narrowness, teaching resignation. It can indicate deep sensitivity, receptivity to everything that surrounds us, and more: a sense of peace, of sweetness, of rest.

On the negative side, however, it can indicate an apathetic and unstable nature. It can lead to total apathy, negative passivity, or to excess in certain areas of life.

Gemma pulled the stiletto out from her belt for the umpteenth time and started playing with it again while she was enduring an increasingly unnerving wait. More than by the delay of her co-workers, she was annoyed at the thought of what was about to happen.

It was not the first time she had to deal with Al-Rahim, but every time she hoped and prayed that it would be her last. His reappearance meant long journeys throughout Italy, to try to keep up with his movements, as well as endless interrogations far from pleasant with anyone who had the misfortune to meet that man who so insisted on being called _the Turk._

And above all, that assignment involved frequent visits to the Vatican, to His Holiness. Just thinking about it, she squeezed the stiletto with all the strength she was capable of, in order to resist the temptation to throw it and thrust it into the first available surface; than strength even showed the sign of a ring under the black leather of the gloves.

She took a deep breath and tried focusing her thoughts on something else, or she would obtain only a big and painful rage. In order to distract herself, she turned her attention to the stiletto, to the fluid and elegant movement with which she was turning it in her hands, whatever move she wanted to make. She almost laughed thinking about it: she had learned to wield and use that weapon even before studying the basics of the Catholic religion.

What would be the point of investing time and money in a cultural preparation, if she turned out to be incapable of fighting? In all likelihood, Sixtus had followed that same reasoning, getting her training started as soon as possible.

And there she was, able to hold a weapon since she was just eight years old, but sometimes unable to recite the teachings of the Bible on command. On the other hand, she found herself at twenty-four years old with two-thirds of her life spent at the service of the Holy Roman Church, more or less officially, engaged in tight training and practice without respite, to keep her worthy of being defined _the Vatican's most precious jewel._

And in more hidden contexts, _the most powerful weapon of the Vatican. _

Titles that both sounded prestigious, to be proud of, but for Gemma were nothing but boulders, ubiquitous always and anyway. Sometimes bearable, sometimes so heavy that they prevent her from breathing.

The already familiar sound of the door lock aroused her from her thoughts. In so many years she had gone through that secret passage more often than through the main entrance. The usual talk about secrecy and the need for discretion.

With his characteristic heavy, raw step, Captain Grunwald appeared in the hall, having passed an imposing bookshelf filled with books and artifacts, and looked for Gemma with his eyes.

He found her sitting on one of the majestic tables of the Archives, far from being useful to explore and examine the treasures kept there, but displayed for the sole purpose to exhibit and flaunt all the wealth possessed by the Church. Probably more gold had been used to decorate that desk than a crown.

Not surprisingly, it was Gemma's favorite. Whenever she had the opportunity to stand alone in the Archives, without Pope Sixtus nearby, she would jump on that table and sit on the edge, strictly with the most regal and refined postures: straight back, one leg stacked on top of the other, and hands elegantly joins in front of her. Or, as in that case, commit to fiddling with her beloved stiletto.

When the young woman looked back at him, however, the look she gave him was far much sharper than her favorite weapon.

«I hope that this delay will be followed by a very good explanation», she thundered sternly, slowing down the movement of the dagger in her hands. «For example, that the Turk has given up his suicidal mission and that my work here is already finished», she added, with a sarcastic smile of fake courtesy.

«Unfortunately, no, Countess Riario», replied the captain, with unusual humility.

In any other situation, he would have been very good at intimidating his opponent, helped by his menacing and aggressive appearance. But every rule has its exception, and for Grunwald that exception was Gemma.

«Of course not», muttered the young woman, her voice imbued with irony. «Come on, what else do you have to tell me? I've already wasted enough time», she continued, annoyed.

«He's still in Florence, and many other clues indicate that the Book is also-...», but Gemma raised a hand and snapped her fingers: a tacit way to silence him. And to humiliate him, at the same time.

«I'm sure I didn't wait this long just to get just half of the information I asked for», said the Countess, looking toward where the captain had appeared.

A few seconds later, in fact, in the Archives the sound of other steps echoed, much slower and insecure than those of Grunwald, and shortly thereafter a second character appeared from around the corner, completely hidden under a heavy dark velvet cloak.

«Such theatricality», the Countess commented, rolling her eyes. «You are a spy of the Church, not the character of some play», she added, in a tone of reproach.

She had to wait a few more moments for the second guest to give up that last protective barrier, consisting of the cape cap. The wait did nothing but annoying her more than she already was.

With an expression that tried, in vain, to conceal restlessness, Madonna Donati made an appearance, her gaze straight to the ground and her lower lip tortured with her teeth to discharge the nervousness.

«More silence?», asked Gemma, and it sounded not at all as a question, but as a threat. «Because, in that case, I am afraid I don't have enough patience to tolerate it», she said, her expression was stern and her hands, wrapped in black leather gloves, were already tinkering with her stiletto.

«The Turk succeeded», Lucrezia replied, and a second later her expression became even more tense, realizing that she couldn't have chosen worse words, especially because of the already very altered mood of the Countess. «He could have... he found someone interested in the book», she stammered then, humbly.

«Better and better», Gemma muttered, resting her hand on her forehead and closing her eyes trying to regain some self-control. «Who is the fool on duty?», she asked, eager to end that encounter as soon as possible.

«An artist…», Lucrezia replied. «…known as Leonardo da Vinci».

«The Medici have employed him to design siege weapons», Grunwald added, realizing that the young Florentine would not have been of any help in shortening the duration of that interview.

«An artist?», repeated Gemma, at first puzzled. «Would this be the terrible news you were so afraid to share? That I'm going to have to deal with a jester surrogate armed with brushes?», she continued rhetorically, and more and more amused.

«This artist is different», Madonna Donati tried again, and her words could even sound like a bold objection, if only it had not been undermined by her intimidated and uncomfortable expression. «His ideas are… unusual, revolutionary».

«You have caught his attention: this already puts a limit on his intelligence», Gemma retorted, with a smile full of falsehood.

The young Florentine woman appeared visibly offended, but fear prevailed and forced her to return docile and condescending.

«Well», Gemma muttered sarcastically, getting off the table with a grace that was surreal, to say the least. «Keep an eye on him, and on the Magnificent as well. I want all the information that your supposed pretty little face can extort», she ordered, snapping her fingers in the direction of the Florentine.

«Certainly», Lucrezia replied, with a thread of voice and a desire to get away as soon as possible.

In a bored gesture, Gemma dismissed her, only to let slip a sigh of annoyance.

«Take the horses, Captain Grunwald», she added then, addressing her fellow partner. «Florence is waiting for us».

«What is your plan, Countess?», he investigated, with all the shrewdness that his survival instinct was shouting at him to use.

«To have this artist, » said Gemma, armed with the resolve that had always characterized her name. «By any means necessary».

Notes:

Hi everyone!

Here we are again, sorry for the waiting but I hope you like the second chapter.

Things are still going a little bit slow, but we are getting closer to the action, just wait.

For now, I want to properly introduce Gemma and her world to you.

Would you like to leave a little comment here below?

See you later, bye!

Amy Wendys

4


	3. Chapter 3 - The Empress

_**The Vatican Jewel **_

**Chapter 3 – The Empress**

In tarots, the Empress' card represents the brightness of the intelligence that generates thought and understanding. It indicates forms and ideas, reveals study and reflection, knowledge. Domain exercised with goodness and affability, which wants to express itself in a maternal education. It is, also, an indicator of fruitfulness, of inner wealth, of generosity.

To the negative side, however, it reflects superficiality, excessive prodigality, intent of seduction, vanity and desire for luxury.

* * *

«I'm gonna have words with you, boy. We found footprints in the graveyard where the Jew's body was stolen. A donkey's, a man's… and a child's. Long-toed poulaines such as you are wearing».

The little henchman recruited by the Swiss guards, Morgante, said no more, before his partner hit Nico at the back of the head and knocked him over.

The two men quickly crossed the streets of Florence, careful to not be seen by anyone, and loaded the young man into a carriage, making sure to cover his head with a dark cloth hood.

Once at the camp of the soldiers of Rome, Morgante came down first, and looked at the right-hand man of the kidnapping: Captain Grunwald. The man, without over-breaking, beckoned to bring the da Vinci's collaborator on a small wooden stool, in front of an elegant table black painted.

Some wails from the carriage warned those who were present that the young Florentine had regained consciousness, but as he was tied up and hooded, he could not know where he was headed.

And, above all, who he was about to meet.

The guards strangled him to the makeshift lounge in the garden and made him kneel on the ground, his arms firmly behind his back. From under the hood, nothing but subdued sobs and trembling breaths could be heard.

On the other side of the table, the sound of slow, calculated steps was muffled by the soft turf, and the guest took all the time she wanted to sit on an elegant armchair lined with precious fabrics.

She looked up at one of her guards and simply nodded her head to give the order to remove the hood from the boy. The man nodded with respect and freed the Florentine from the mask.

Nico gasped for surprise and began to look around, with terror in his eyes and his breath stuck in his throat, his cheeks flushed with tears and his hair matted. A moment later, his gaze lingered on the woman sitting in front of him, the expression absolutely unflappable, calm, far from leaking a clue about her intentions.

«Do you know who I am?», the young woman asked, bowing her head slightly to the side; the soft, velvety voice, without any trace of turmoil. «I'm Gemma Riario. Countess of Imola, leader of the Holy Roman Church and niece of His Holiness, Pope Sixtus IV».

Nico could barely hear her words, so gripped by fear, and no sound left his lips, as the gaze wandered again from one soldier to another.

«Yes, I know», the Countess commented, with a bored sigh. «Everyone is always very surprised to see a woman», she continued, with disarming naturalness and tranquility, which were not appropriate to the context. «They wanted a son. They would have called him Girolamo. But then I came».

Poor Nico, he did nothing to conceal all his confusion, too overwhelmed by the situation and the avalanche of information, so he looked at the young woman with a frightened and disoriented gaze.

«But the title of _the Vatican's_ _most precious Jewel_ would not have sounded as well», she added, with a hint of pride. «You adapt to the best of your ability».

Seeing no reaction from the young Florentine, nothing more than sobs and gasp, Gemma sighed and brought her attention back to the most urgent affairs.

«Signor Morgante has informed us of your grave-robbing exploits», she said, pointing to the man in question with an elegant and graceful gesture of hand.

«I don't know what you mean…», Nico muttered, with that little courage he had managed to gather, but betrayed by the uncertain and unsteady voice.

«Don't waste your strength like this, Nico», Gemma interrupted him, with a vein of kindness that might have seemed almost sincere in other circumstances. «We know so much, about you and your artist, that any attempt to deny would only be a waste of time», she continued, crossing one leg over the other.

«Erm… Your Excellency…», intruded on Morgante, moving some uncertain step toward the Countess. «There was the matter of payment».

At those words, Gemma looked up at the guard sort of surprised, while her fingers fiddled with her leather gloves.

«Yes, of course», she replied then, hinting at another of her smiles, seemingly almost sincere. «Captain Grunwald?», she called, barely raising her right hand to his co-worker.

Confused, Nico followed the whole scene with his eyes, in the vain hope that that little incident could distract the Countess' attention from the _da Vinci_ matter. Just in time to see the glitter of Grunwald's sword unhinged, and an instant later that same sword beheading Morgante with a single blow, and his illusion vanished immediately.

Blood spots soiled his face, and the boy tried to turn his head elsewhere, but the guard behind him immediately returned to his seat.

«Jesus!», was all Nico could say, as his gaze returned to Gemma's face, to her total lack of upset or remorse for what she had just done.

«This belief that I can be considered harmless just because I'm woman...» Gemma muttered, with a little annoyance in her voice. «As much as I'm used to it, it's always a nuisance», she added, before taking a deep breath and returning to focus on the young Florentine. «We know about the stolen Jew's body, so let's avoid so many useless ceremonies: what is the artist's interest in all of this?»

Despite his considerable difficulty at breathing, Nico kept his silence, trying to concentrate his forces on keeping his body under control, shivering with fear. His gaze returned to the Countess, as he expected an ounce of pity at any moment, but the young woman's expression remained inscrutable.

The only emotion that peeped out, after a few more wordless seconds, was boredom, in front of that umpteenth waste of time.

«I understand», Gemma muttered, addressing her faithful right-hand man with another nod.

At his signal, two men approached a small table a short distance away, and grabbed a strange object: at first glance, it looked nothing more than a black casket with a small white handle on the top. One of the sides, however, was decorated with a white sculpture depicting a young, empty-eyed and vacuous woman.

«The day when I won't have to go that far to be heard will come», Gemma muttered, with a sigh of resignation. «But that day is not today», and a moment later, Nico felt his hand ripped off and forced to be put it in the box; with a small turn of the lever, he was denied any chance to free himself.

«No... » he muttered with a whisper, one last supplication.

«It's called _the Widow's Tear_», Gemma explained, with the same calmness that had characterized the entire conversation from the beginning up to that point. «The source of the discomfort you're feeling is an exquisitely tooled diamond needle, the titular Widow's Tear», she continued, straightening on the chair just because she could lean more towards her interlocutor. «A gem. What a coincidence», she added, with a sarcastic smile.

Soon after, however, the smile disappeared, just as the Countess' hand tightened around the handle, beginning to turn it around.

«And as I turn the handle, the diamond slowly incises a circle of skin, from the back of the hand, one layer of epidermis at a time», she murmured, and as evidence of her words came Nico's subdued wagging, while the blade hurt his hand, slowly but painfully.

Once completed the turn, Gemma sat composedly in the chair, her arms stretched out on the armchair armrests, and a veined sigh of suffering left her lips before she could stop it.

«Let's try again: why did da Vinci unearth the Jew's body?», the Countess asked, and she had no control even on the faint hope that was lit in her that Nico understood that the time to show strength was over.

Receiving nothing but silence, however, her choice was reset, and she had to go straight back to her chair.

«Very well. Another turn», she murmured, stretching her hand back toward the handle and clutching it more forcefully than what was necessary.

She was about to turn it again, when the young Florentine sobbed.

«Stop! Stop, stop», he begged her, with a thread of voice, before another sob blocked his breath in his throat.

Gemma did everything in her power to mask that hint of smile that was sign of a satisfied and smug expression, and returned to observe the boy.

«I'm listening», she murmured, crossing one leg over the other again and joining her hands above the knee.

«He was searching… The Jew swallowed something», answered Nico, faintly raising his gaze.

With her, by then, characteristic nod, she gathered her soldiers, ordering them to be ready to go.

«What?», she encouraged him, in a calm and smooth tone.

«A key».

* * *

Although Gemma was trained to get away with any kind of situation, from the most diplomatic, to the most uncomfortable one, in which she had to get her hands dirty in person, for once she decided to delegate her guards for the task of scouring Leonardo's workshop from top to bottom, looking for the key that, according to Nico, was somewhere within those walls.

In all likelihood, the Countess had been kissed by luck that day and, thanks to the decision to not follow the Swiss guards to Florence, she had escaped the explosion triggered by Leonardo's little apprentice.

At the very least, his henchmen had been trained just as well, or at least they had learned when it was time to stop and face the enemy and when to run away. That's why, hearing the voice of Andrea running into the workshop, they had disappeared into the shadows of the city, leaving Nico and his bloody hand in the middle of the room, under the worried gaze of Andrea.

«Oh, merciful heaven!», Verrocchio exclaimed, looking around and being careful not to get too close to the still-living flames of the fire. «What happened here?», he asked, approaching Nico worriedly.

Behind him, Leonardo and Zoroaster also entered the studio, both alarmed at the damage caused by the explosive chest.

«These men are agents of the papacy», the artist murmured, with very few traces of doubt in his voice.

«What, it wasn't enough to tangle with the Medicis? Now you're…?», Andrew exclaimed, the anger was just masking the concern and fear that gripped him. «Leo… you're talking about the Pope», he added, with a thread of voice, and he did not even want to try to imagine what that statement might entail.

«Not to worry. They could only have our entrails torn out», he intruded Zoroaster, in a bored tone.

Leonardo, however, did not even hear him: his gaze had fallen on his apprentice, on his wounded and bleeding hand, on his tears-rived cheeks and on his distraught expression.

«Nico… who did this to you?», he asked, gently taking his wrist and examining the injury.

«Countess Riario», the young man answered, in an uncertain voice.

In what was surely the least appropriate reaction, Zoroaster burst out laughing, under Andrea's gaze of reproach.

«A woman?», he repeated, amused. «Has the maternal instinct towards a defenseless child not prevailed?»

«There was nothing human or compassionate about her», muttered the boy, lowering his gaze to the mere recollection of that encounter.

«No one can resist this pretty face», Zo commented again, approaching his friend and pinching his cheeks.

«Zoroaster», Leonardo admonished him, with a less-than-friendly look. «We have a serious problem», he added, trying to bring the conversation back about what was really important.

«Come on, it's not humanly possible to resist the puppy look of our Nico», continued Zo Undaunted, with the same tone he would use to address a child, and with his fingers ruffled his hair.

«I told you: she was ruthless and remorseless», retorted Nico, raising his healthy hand to stop his friend from playing games.

«Immune to any emotion?», the dark-haired one asked, with a suddenly attentive look.

«Cold as ice», the apprentice muttered, frightened even by just the memory.

«Enough to withstand the _charm_...», began Zoroaster, using all the sarcasm he was capable of for the last word. «…of a certain presumptuous artist of our knowledge?»

«I don't think she even knows what an emotion is», mumbled his friend, going to look for a wet rag to cleanse his bloodied hand with.

«Interesting», the dark-haired one commented, with a grin that promised nothing good. «Very, very interesting», he repeated, shifting his gaze to Leonardo.

«There's nothing interesting», immediately retorted the artist, while helping Nico to medicate the wound.

«I think so. I'm sure that a _collision_…», he began, pressing on the last word with malice. «…between you two would be very intriguing».

«With the pope's little right-hand? No thanks», the artist answered, pretending to shudder at the mere idea.

He already had enough trouble to deal with, without the Holy Roman Church sending him its little gemstone to procure him others. And seeing what she had been able to do to Nico, without any remorse as he had told him, he didn't even want to imagine what other tricks she had in store.

«A woman with balls, it doesn't happen every day», commented quietly Zoroaster, intrigued just at the thought. «I'm sure you wouldn't be able to keep up with her», he then said, pointing his finger at him.

Leonardo chose to ignore it, finding the idea, instead, far from tempting. And surely not even his pride as a self-centered and conceited artist would have liked such a submission.

«An extremely delicious bite», continued Zoroaster, reinforcing the message, as he approached him. «Tempting... Right, _artista_?», whispered to him, in a low voice.

«Of course», muttered the master, with no little sarcasm. «I'll let you know when one of us ends up with a dagger in our throat».

Of course, however, the friend chose to focus just on the only detail that could come in handy, and continued in his much-vaunted theory with a mischievous smile, as he crossed his arms to his chest and took on a dreamy air.

«_One of us_» repeated, pretending to be extremely focused. «Sounds good», he then said sententiously, nodding over and over with his head. «It's a good start».

Unfortunately, he received no answer, and when he looked back at the victim of his hypotheses, he found Leonardo intent on ignoring him and taking care of the wound of poor Nico's hand. In front of that scene, Zoroaster realized he couldn't do anything else, and indulged in a sigh of despondency.

«We'll see».

* * *

Notes:

Hi everyone!  
It's been a while, but finally I found enough time to work on this chapter.  
I'm really happy to be back and I hope you liked the chapter, if you would like to let me know your thoughts it would mean the world to me.  
Hopefully I will be able to work more on the English version, I hope to "see" you all again soon.  
Thank you so much!  
Amy Wendys


	4. Chapter 4 - The Moon

_**The Vatican Jewel  
**_**Chapter 4 - The Moon**

* * *

In Tarots, the Moon's card assembles the appearances, the visible form of things, the illusions of physicality and materiality. It is fantasy, capriciousness, originality, but also mistakes and prejudices, gullible spirit. It incorporates superstitions and mental passivity. It is impressionability and emotionality.  
On the negative side, however, it indicates the material bonds that immobilize, equivocal situations, deception. It can indicate the threat, the flattery.

* * *

The pleasant evening breeze was a relief after the suffocating heat that had dominated throughout the day, following the storm. The torches lit up all over the glade could hardly withstand the wind blowing on the hill, but a couple of slaves in the Countess' service were taking care of rekindle the flames.

Gemma sat comfortably in a soft armchair in the middle of the lawn, and kept her eyes closed and her chin high, deeply inhaling the fresh air of the dark hours of the day. Her legs were crossed, one arm relaxed and resting on an armrest, while with her other hand she fiddled with the ring she held on her right ring finger.

She heard the typical sound of a galloping horse getting closer and closer to the glade, but instead of immediately recovering the formalities that are due to business, she still took a few seconds to enjoy the last moments of tranquility before putting back the gloves. Metaphorically and literally.

With her eyes still closed, she heard Captain Grunwald leaving his position, to her right, to approach the perimeter of the lawn, thus meeting the guest who rode the steed. Gemma, on the other hand, did not need to bother, she already knew the identity of the visitor.

When she heard the horse neighing and stopping a few steps away from her, she snorted annoyed, now aware that her brief moment of tranquility was over.

«The guest we were impatiently waiting for», she muttered, every word drenched in sarcasm, as she rose from her chair and again wore her black leather gloves.

Miss Donati lowered the cape of the mantle and approached the Countess, the step much less impertinent and sure than what Gemma expected, and already that slightest detail triggered the first alarm bell.

«It's dangerous for me to be seen meeting you», Lucrezia started, in what most likely wanted to be an affront, but lacking of a fundamental trait: impertinence. «There are too many prying eyes».

Gemma tried to be serious and interested, she really tried, but already after the first words she could not hold herself back from rolling her eyes with a bored expression.

«If I were stopped along the way, I would detain the suspicions of Lorenzo and the Officers of the Night», the noblewoman continued, however, and the Countess reinforced the message, bringing a hand in front of her mouth and miming a yawn.

«Are you done?», she asked then, pretty annoyed. «I have no need for a lecture on discretion, much less from you», she went on, more sternly.

At those words Lucrezia fell silent, disappointing the Countess' expectations: she was more than sure that the young woman would have continued, forcing her to leave aside good manners to reaffirm her total absence of interest in the complaints of the spy of the Vatican. Which triggered a second alarm bell.

«Since you seem so anxious to conclude this meeting as soon as possible, tell me: what information did you bring me?», Gemma asked, returning to sit in her armchair.

Given the first clues, she wasn't surprised at all to see the fear in Miss Donati's eyes as she asked the most predictable question, considering her role as an infiltrator. Nor did the following silence stunned her, as well as Lucrezia's gaze pointed to the lawn.

«Please, slower and by punctuating the words better, or it will be impossible for me to understand you», Gemma said, leading her hand ahead and miming her to slow down the non-existent flow of words.

Again, her sarcasm received no reaction, when normally Lucrezia did not miss an opportunity to collide with Countess Riario.

«Miss Donati…», Gemma admonished her, abandoning sarcasm only to resort to a harsher and more threatening tone.

«I have nothing», the Florentine girl murmured, never raising her gaze on the one of the woman in front of her.

At first, the Countess faked an expression of confusion and perplexity, as she got up and approached Lucrezia with slow and short steps.

«I'm sorry, what?», she asked, sarcastic again.

«I have nothing», Miss Donati repeated, raising her head, but her security mask was unable to conceal the fear that was actually devouring her.

To her surprise, however, Gemma laughed amused, before continuing the conversation with an unusual naturalness, far from threats and intimidation.

«What does that mean?», she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. «You've had a week to entertain the much-celebrated da Vinci. Have you both forgotten how to carry a conversation?»

At those words, Gemma saw Lucrezia stiffening and getting more and more nervous, and it didn't take her long to figure out what explanation was behind her strange behavior.

«You haven't met him since», she muttered, more a statement than a real question, but the Florentine girl was not surprised at all by the Countess' insight.

«I have tried, over and over again», the other one replied, putting some clarifications first of all. «But he has shown no interest in response, since the night of Carnival».

Gemma tried with all her strength to keep that light and cheered look, but her fake amused smile went out immediately, replaced by a loud annoyed sigh.

«You had one job. Only one», she hissed, sharply. «To find da Vinci, to seduce him, to make him talk and then to report everything to me. What part was unclear?»

«I tried», Lucrezia repeated, but Gemma silenced her by raising a hand in the air.

«But nevertheless, I don't have the information I asked for», replied the countess, not a little annoyed.

«He is not interested, and he didn't make any scruples in rejecting me», Lucrezia justified herself, and the wounded pride did not take long to show up in her tone of voice and in her expression.

«Oh, poor you», Gemma whined, with all her typical and cutting sarcasm. «It must be unpleasant to fail in the only thing you are capable of», she added in a whisper, with a blatantly false pity.

Lucrezia clenched her teeth tightly and tried to express all the hatred she felt only through her gaze, but she was the first one to know that it would be absolutely useless against someone like the Countess Riario.

«So I shouldn't even waste my breath wandering if he ever mentioned a key or a Jew», she went on, annoyed.

Miss Donati's swagger and insolence evaporated immediately, because she knew very well that that tone of voice did not precede anything good, and she had to use all of her courage even to just shake her head in a nod of dissent. Not even her gaze was immune to fear, and she went back to stare at the lawn under her feet.

«I can't believe it», hissed Gemma, rolling her eyes.

She snorted heavily, before turning to her men and snapping her fingers, and the soldiers immediately obeyed, rushing to retrieve the wooden box that was in the countess' tent.

«Strange, however. I was firmly convinced that you were his type», Gemma murmured, turning back to Lucrezia and managing to make her rise her gaze with a puzzled look, in a silent question. «You breathe», she pointed out, shrugging with fake innocence.

«You underestimate him», the Florentine girl murmured through her teeth, conspicuously indignant.

«Who? Me? I would never dare», answered Gemma, ironically, turning to her soldiers and grabbing a couple of objects from the wooden box just brought by them.

The first object was a small glass ampoule, with a mysterious content.

«What is it?», Lucrezia asked, taking it in her hands.

«Instructions will be forthcoming», it was the abrupt response of the countess, still irritated by the change of plans in her schedule.

From the box she then pulled out a stamp to imprint the Papal seal and a sheet of rolled-up paper.

«In case you can miraculously reveal yourself more interesting than I think...», Gemma began, very skeptical. «...tell me your findings using one of these secure locales hidden throughout Florence. You already know symbols and meanings», she went on, handing all of it to her with hurriedly.

«I don't think da Vinci is going to change his mind», Lucrezia murmured, again frightened.

«I'll have to handle it, then», Gemma answered, and she dismissed the guest with a nod of sufficiency.

She watched her going back to her horse and disappearing from her sight with some urgency, not immune to the more or less veiled threats of the Countess Riario, nor to her characteristic resoluteness. Only when the spy was away from the glade, Gemma turned around and went towards her tent in the camp.

«Captain Grunwald», she called him back, snapping her fingers.

«Countess Riario», he answered, reaching her at a brisk pace.

«Counter order. We stay for a couple of days yet».

* * *

It was late at night when Grunwald crossed the perimeter of the field again, to check that everything was quiet.

The silence was broken only by the verse of some crickets, well-hidden and sheltered among the grass blades of the lawn. On the contrary, the guards in charge of supervise the camp did not emit any sound, not even a breath more marked than the others. They stood motionless, the sword in one hand and the shield in the other, and through the helmet' slit they surveyed all around, ready to attack at the slightest threat.

The duty of defending the army and the Countess was up to them, yet the captain was taking precious hours away from his rest just to make sure the camp was safe.

Or maybe, more precisely, that a particular person was safe.

After the recon, he was about to return to his tent and to try to sleep, at least a few hours. He would have sworn that he had walked to his bed and reached it, yet his legs had moved on their own and, without his knowledge, he had reached the most isolated corner of the camp: the tent of Countess Riario.

Although it was time to rest, it was very likely that she was still awake.

Trying to be discreet and not to produce any suspicious noise, he approached one of the slots between the fabric flaps of the tent. He wouldn't expose himself too much, he thought to himself. Just enough time to check that everything was okay, and he'd be gone immediately.

Yet all his good intentions went up in smoke when his gaze rested on her, on her figure dozed off in a restful sleep, after the long journey to Florence. And what was supposed to be a fleeting stop, a brief variation from his plans, turned into something else.

Gemma seemed so calm, serene, in peace, but it would have been enough for her to reopen her eyes, to get back in touch with reality, for that serenity to slip away from her fingers. Because her role and her genealogy would never allow her to live a normal life.

Seeing her in that state, the memories surfaced in front of his eyes without being able to control them, and Grunwald found himself thinking about the first time he had seen her, when she was only ten years old.

She was so small, still so far from the violence and the evil of that world. Yet when he had looked her in the eyes, he had noticed that a piece of her innocence had already been taken away from her. A few years later he discovered that his suspicions were well-founded, and that her training to become a spy had already begun a couple of years before.

«Take care of her, Captain Grunwald», Sixtus had told him, at that time still Francesco della Rovere, a simple cardinal of the Vatican. «Do it, and I will be able to reward you handsomely, one day», he had promised him with an enviable security, as if he had already seen his nomination as Pope in the future.

And he had obeyed.

Once conquered that title, Grunwald had returned to him, leveraging the power he had acquired and that, from that moment on, would only increase.

«Take care of her, Captain Grunwald», he had repeated to him. «Keep doing it, and your reward will be immense».

And he had obeyed.

Again.

He hadn't done anything else for fourteen years. And he would continue to do so, grabbed onto that promise.

His gaze focused again on Gemma, on her eyelids with a little hint of black make-up, on her slightly parted lips, on her blushed cheeks for the cold of the night.

He had seen her take her first steps in the art of combat, though she was still too small to hold a sword on her own.

He had seen her grow, lose her innocence, one crumb at a time, and learn the art of manipulation, of intimidation, of killing, one victim at a time.

He had seen her abandon her childhood, and become a kid, then a young woman. He had seen her wield the power, becoming Countess of Imola and controlling the entire army of the Church in the palm of her hand.

He had seen her shine in her successes.

And he had seen her collapse into the obscurity of pain, in her darkest moment.

And against his will, a small twinge hit him in the chest, thinking back on that tragedy.

When he found out that his assignment would be to look after a little girl, he wanted to vent his indignation in a big and healthy laugh. And that outrage had grown, constantly, seeing her gaining more and more power, while he remained at his place.

A faithful and diligent servant who was overcome by a little girl so small that she needed a pedestal to be seen.

But despite all that injustice, something else had risen in him, and it had grown along with resentment and grudge. Something he couldn't define, or perhaps didn't want to define, for fear of naming it.

Perhaps, in other circumstances, he would have called it admiration. Maybe devotion. Maybe affection.

Or perhaps, it was only fidelity to his Pope; waiting to have, one day, what was promised. Sooner or later, his time would have came. And with that thought well repeated in his head, he walked away.


	5. Chapter 5 - The Star

_**The Vatican Jewel  
**_**Chapter 5 - The Star **

In the Tarot, the Star's card indicates the goddess, the first woman, Eve, who impersonates Nature and proves to be an activist of life for beings burdened by the weight of earthly life, it is Nature in action. It symbolizes the night illuminated by the stars of hope. It is also significant of beauty, of sweetness, feelings that have to be part of the life of the soul.  
It awakens hopes, ideals, it restores poetry and philosophy to life, but it is also sensuality, art, sensitivity. It is naively seductive youth, it is fatalism.  
On the negative side, however, it indicates not always positive presentiments, morbid curiosities that can cause damage.

Leonardo grabbed another glass of wine from the small table behind him, and turned back to the guests present at the banquet. He only glimpsed Lucrezia for a moment, but he immediately looked away, looking for something else that could receive his attention.

«I see you thoughtful», Zoroaster commented, flanking him with a chalice in his hand.

«I don't particularly like this kind of events», he muttered, while out of the corner of his eye he made sure that Miss Donati had left.

Their little Carnival adventure had been an interesting amusement, but the day after she had not been his first thought as soon as he woke up, nor his obsession during the day. If something wasn't able to keep his interest longer than a couple of hours, it wasn't worth any more time.

Lucrezia had not managed to win him the first time, nor had she succeeded the second time, during a fleeting meeting at the market, or the third, in his own workshop. Her interest in the artist was certainly flattering, however Leonardo was unable to lie to her and he preferred, for once in a while, to stay out of trouble.

«Only you are able to refuse the attentions of a flower like that», mumbled his friend, probably helped by wine.

«You should rejoice», da Vinci commented, shrugging his shoulders. «You can try to approach her».

«The Magnifico's mistress? Thank you but, unlike you, I care about my life».

Leonardo rolled his eyes and glanced quickly behind him, again looking for something that could arouse his curiosity.

«For the love of mother and child…»

Zoroaster's voice distracted him again and the artist turned around, even more annoyed than before.

«What?», he mumbled bored, but his expression changed in perplexity seeing his friend dazed like a statue.

«Forget Lucrezia, here's someone I'd really like to approach», he replied maliciously and discreetly pointed to a spot on the other side of the room.

Leonardo, against his will, followed his friend's gaze, but when he discovered the cause of so much interest his mind seemed to get empty of any thought.

In the banquet hall a young woman had just arrived, an unknown face to Florence and especially to the artist. She looked around with attention and sincere interest, as opposed to many damsels with a frightened, or bored, look.

Her eyes wandered from one detail to another, accentuated by some small golden decorations applied to the corners of the eyelids and temples, which, caressed by the light, shone almost as much as her awake, lively, intriguing gaze.

Some guests stepped aside to allow her to pass, revealing an equally charming dress. Unlike many clothes, colored in bright colors, hers was the darkest one; however, in its own way, it shone on all the others.

A tight black brocade bodice, embellished with some golden decorations, was framed by soft and abundant sleeves, long to the wrists, of a shiny black velvet decorated with thin gold chains. The dress then gave way to a long skirt down to the ground, also in black velvet, open with a slit in the center to reveal the precious golden brocade below.

The soft brown hair, styled in soft curls, fell gently on the shoulders up to the waist, slightly shorter than the other damsels. Nothing in her conformed to the other guests, though less her rare and intriguing beauty.

«Wow», Zoroaster murmured, failing to formulate anything more elaborate.

Leonardo, on the other hand, did not even manage to open his mouth, unable to take his eyes off that mysterious but charming woman. Just when he saw her moving away to another room, his brain seemed to wake up again, and the last thing he wanted to do was losing sight of her.

He hurriedly placed his glass on the table and greeted the dark-haired one with a pat on the shoulder, before leaving him alone.

«Oh, yes, of course. Thank you, man», Zoroaster mumbled, talking only to himself. «You're welcome, I'm here on purpose to give you my prey».

Leonardo made his way among the guests, never taking his eyes off the mysterious guest, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her stopping in a quieter and less crowded corner. The artist was finally able to slow down and have time to quickly adjust his appearance and, above all, recover his brazen and self-confident attitude.

«A new face in the city of Florence», he began, drawing the girl's attention to himself.

A single glance, so lively and tantalizing, was enough to stop his heart for a few seconds. He would not have easily forgotten such beautiful eyes.

«If I can introduce myself…», he continued, bowing gracefully; he held out his hand and the girl gave him her own. «My name is Leonardo da Vinci. Artist, anatomist, engineer, inventor, visionary painter... and also of some note, I would add».

He laid his lips on the noblewoman's hand, never taking his gaze off her eyes, and he lingered far beyond than what was necessary, but neither of them seemed to think that it was a problem.

«I would add modesty to your already rich quality list», she promptly replied, with a note of sarcasm.

«Simple facts, Madonna. But we can always move the conversation on you».

«I don't think your ego would allow it», she replied, pretending a diffident and vaguely sorry look, but she immediately replaced it with an amused smile.

«It could, if won by curiosity», Leonardo immediately replied, suddenly impatient to know which name the first damsel able to stand up to him with such skill responded to.

«A lady has very few secrets, Maestro da Vinci. Why don't you talk to me a little more about yourself?», said the young woman, however.

Yet Leonardo felt even more curious and intrigued by the stranger, and he would have told her anything, even the most banal story he knew, just to not end that conversation.

«I will gladly consent to your request if you will be kind enough to allow me a dance», he ventured, tilting his head slightly to the side with a smirk.

The girl observed him for a few moments in silence, with her eyes half-closed as if she was studying him, and the artist's expectation grew. Then, without saying anything, she moved towards the other dancers and, after a few steps, she turned to look for da Vinci's gaze, raising her eyebrows in a clear invitation. Leonardo took less than a second to reach her.

Gemma would never have thought she could be so lucky, but for once the fate was in her favor and it had allowed her to approach the famous Leonardo da Vinci without any effort. And judging by the way he looked at her, without ever losing sight of her, the situation was in her favor, far beyond all her hope.

The countess turned to the artist and approached him, before starting to dance following the music.

Leonardo had to remind himself to recover a minimum of dignity, possibly starting with closing his mouth and stopping to stare at her like a puppy dog. Yet something about her bewitched him: she had literally subjugated him the moment his eyes had settled on her, and Leonardo did not remember ever having felt something like that.

By now well beyond the limits of consonance, he let his voice act of his own life, without inhibitions.

«I would love to portray you, someday», he murmured, then he suddenly realized what he had said.

He expected to see her outraged, offended, upset, as any other lady would have done; instead she surprised him again, looking at him with curiosity but also with a streak of malice that Leonardo could easily have mistaken for interest in that proposal.

«As long as it please you, Madonna», he hurried to specify, his usual security suddenly gone.

But Gemma just smiled, amused at that little show of embarrassment.

«Do you propose yourself as a portraitist to all the ladies you barely know?», she asked with a curious gaze, tilting her head slightly.

Da Vinci smiled relieved and recovered his cockiness, returning to observe her face and eyes very carefully.

«Only to those who can catch my attention. And I can assure you that it's really hard to arouse my interest», he replied, lowering his tone considerably and getting closer to her.

For a moment he shifted his glance from her eyes to her lips, and Gemma did the same, slightly tightening her grip around his hand.

For a while they remained silent, lost in the gaze of each other, the dance movements nearly automatic, far from following the music.

«And when can we start?»

Gemma's voice awakened him suddenly and, so surprised by her response, he suddenly lost all his confidence. And it wasn't the first time that evening.

«So, you accept?», he asked surprised, and had to resign to the idea of no longer having any control over his words.

«I could take your idea into consideration», the young woman replied simply. «Isn't there a work of yours on display at the palace? In order to confirm your vaunted skills», she asked then, looking around.

«Unfortunately not. But I can improvise a sketch right away», da Vinci proposed, slowing down his dance steps until he stopped completely.

«All right», Gemma agreed, dissolving the dance position. «You intrigued me, _artista_», and she left the room without adding anything else, allowing Leonardo to recompose himself, in particular after that nickname that had stopped his breath in his throat.

He saw her reaching one of the hallways of the palace and he strode towards her, passing her and showing her the way. He moved to a nearby study, knowing that no one would come to disturb them, and he showed her an armchair to sit on.

With an elegance that da Vinci had rarely admired in a woman, she sat down, adjusted her dress and raised her chin, posing herself, without ever losing her look and her smile, so captivating and seductive.

Leonardo looked up from his faithful notebook and, seeing her, the pencil almost fell from his hands, but he had the readiness to grasp it at the last second and to squeeze it more firmly between his fingers. Just him, who had mocked the Officers of the Night so much for their unwavering grip.

He began to draw some rapid strokes on the paper, sketching the basis of his drawing, and then working with more precision on the details. He began with the features of the face, framed by her long hair, and then he reached the neck, the shoulders and the décolleté, up to the upper part of the dress and the sleeves. He then concentrated more attention on the nose, the lips, and finally the eyes.

It took him a few moments to find the best way to catch her gaze, and he unknowingly began to approach her, to better study the smallest and most elaborate details. Only after a few seconds he did realized that he was now a few steps away from her, slightly bowed forward, but nothing in the girl made him think he had bothered her.

Slowly, the grip around the pencil weakened and his hand was now only pretending to draw. He saw her closing and reopening her eyes with deliberate slowness, and her gaze became charged with determination and expectation, intertwining it with his own as if by magic.

From her eyes, Leonardo looked insistently at her lips, now completely subjugated, and seeing her slightly opening them, he could no longer reason with lucidity. He took another step closer and he closed his eyes, now determined to fill that distance.

He did not expect to be stopped by the young woman's index finger on his lips.

«Maybe you should know my name, first», she whispered to him, a breath away from his face.

The artist looked up into her eyes, expecting to see a trace of fear, something that justified her refusal, but he found the same malice that had bewitched him immediately.

«Oh, really?», he asked sarcastically, now expecting a game of seduction and provocations.

Gemma raised her eyebrows and bit her lower lip, severely testing the artist's self-control. To Leonardo's surprise, the girl shortened the distance between them, her index finger still against da Vinci's lips.

«Pleasure to make your acquaintance, _artista._ I'm Countess Gemma Riario».

Leonardo's smile suddenly collapsed.

His mind was unable to formulate any thoughts, too busy repeating those last three words and quickly linking them to Nico's story.

Gemma did not pretend anything else or lost her satisfied smile, she simply got up from the armchair and guided the artist's movements, making him step back with her index finger still against his mouth.

«I feel compelled to thank you. It was a really interesting meeting», the countess murmured, following with her fingers and her eyes the cord that da Vinci had around his neck, till the key.

She let it drop and cast a last glance at the artist, before stepping away, leaving him at the mercy of his thoughts.

«Where's the Mastero?», Nico asked, out of breath, catching up with Zoroaster. So unaccustomed to certain events, he had no idea how to get around or where to find his friends.

«Hitting on the lady I had pointed before», grumbled the dark-haired one, with his arms crossed over his chest.

The blond one looked at him perplexed, but in response he only received a nod in the direction of one of the corridors of the building that faced the room. From the entrance a young lady appeared, the golden decorations that shone on the black fabric and on her peach skin, the lively and crafty gaze.

Zoroaster saw only that, but Nico had a completely different opinion: he would never forget those eyes and the coldness that had accompanied them.

And the blood froze in his veins.

«T-T-that?», he stammered, suddenly feeling unsteady on his own legs.

«Yes, I know, she's beautiful», the dark-haired one answered, like an offended child.

«N-n-no, Zo…», the young man stopped him, gesturing with one hand. «That... That...», he tried again, drawing his friend's gaze on himself.

«I see you're not immune to her beauty either.», he commented, with a little surprise: he had never seen him so embarrassed for a woman, and Nico was certainly not a self-confident type.

«Zo…», the blond one murmured again, trying at least to be firmer and more serious.

«What?»

«That... that is Countess Riario», he said in a whisper.

And in response he obtained only silence.

Nothing but silence. For many, many seconds.

«…really?», Zoroaster asked, once his voice was found again.

«Yes».

And it was still silence, for a little while longer.

«Great!», exclaimed the dark-haired one out from nowhere, rolling his eyes. «Couldn't they send a lousy and obnoxious count? No, they well thought to use the most beautiful and irresistible of their weapons», he continued, indignant.

On the contrary, Nico was very little interested in Zoroaster's complaints, and much more in finding his master and saving him from his enemy, an enemy whose identity he did not even suspect.

«Zoroaster, we have to save him!», the blonde one exclaimed, trying to get his attention back.

The dark-haired one, at those words, seemed to calm down and, above all, to put an end to his ranting of complaints and compliments, not so veiled after all, towards the precious jewel of the Vatican. He stared at Nico with a little surprise, as if he had realized only at that time the gravity of the situation.

«No, let's leave him where he is.», he answered instead, surprisingly. «It's a kind of poetic justice», he ruled, firmly.

«B-but…», the apprentice stammered, incredulous.

Fortunately for him, it wasn't long before Leonardo returned to the room, and from the exact same corridor from which the countess had appeared, just before. The only difference was the expression on the faces of the two guests: if the first one was the portrait of tranquility, for the second one the adjective _troubled_ was an understatement.

It was already a miracle for the artist to find the two friendly faces in the crowd; the fact that he had even managed to reach them was incredible.

«Still alive?», Zoroaster asked, pretending to be surprised. «I thought Countess Riario would leave you with a mark: a red and circular one», he commented, with a malicious smile. «And no, I'm not talking about a mark like Nico's», he then specified, turning serious again.

«Zoroaster…», Leonardo warned him, the tone of his fatigued voice as if he had just run through the city.

«What a shocked face», the dark-haired commented instead, cheerfully ignoring the warning. «Did you find out her name only _after_ you copulated like rabbits?»

Nico didn't even try to hide it or to distract the attention of his friends: simply his desperate attempt to find something to hold on to did not give him the opportunity to worry about the comments that would have followed it. Fortunately for him, da Vinci was still too upset to even speak, while Zoroaster's attention was entirely focused on his hypotheses.

«Nope. I'd say, with that face, that you were turned down, man», the dark-haired man affirmed, with a displeasure that was far from sincere. «Better this way, I have heard that praying mantis eat their lovers, after», he went on, always pretending to be genuinely worried about his friend. «They leave you satisfied and then, at the best part, they put it in that place... the metaphor of every woman».

«Oh my God», Nico sobbed, losing again all the so much sought color he had already attempted to put on his face. Again, he was cheerfully ignored by the two cronies.

«I think being turned down saved your life», Zo said softly, adding even a wink.

Despite his expression, to say the least, distorted, Leonardo managed to shoot a lightening glance to his dear friend, before walking towards the exit of the palace.

«I... I need air».

8


	6. Chapter 6 - The Tower

_**The Vatican Jewel  
**_**Chapter 6 - The Tower **

In tarots, the tower's card that collapses it is a symbol of what's material and human weaknesses, it frees the spirit. It represents presumption, excessive idealism, megalomania. The excessive spirit of greed that gets punished. Prejudices obscure reason, but even those who go beyond their limits and live beyond their strength can ruin the ground.  
On the negative side, however, it presupposes threats from the outside, catastrophes that are neither planned nor foreseen.

«Before we accept the devil's work, shouldn't we first eliminate the more profane causes?», Leonardo asked Giuliano, with his typical haughty and arrogant tone.

Receiving no answers other than a confused and bewildered gaze, da Vinci continued with his hypotheses.

«Consider panther cap mushrooms. They're known to cause hallucinations, even death. Or, wolf spiders. The poisonous bite of the Lycosidae. That can cause a hysterical state of movement called _tarantism_», the artist explained.

Unfortunately for him, one after another, all the mushrooms found by the Officers of the Night around the convent did not match to what was sought, as well as the spiders hidden in the corners of the rooms.

«Then what now, scribbler?», Captain Dragonetti muttered, with a skeptical look.

Excluding those hypotheses, the possible explanations that remained were almost non-existent, and without evidence that the cause of the epidemic was profane, and not demonic, the consequences on the reputation of the Medici would have been devastating.

«Some art appreciation, I think», da Vinci instead replied, climbing with great strides the stairs leading to the nuns' studies.

«What possible contaminant can be found in here?», Giuliano asked, evidently annoyed.

«Considering the florid images the sisters live amidst, not to mention the amateurish technique on display here, is it any wonder the afflicted believe themselves possessed?», Leonardo replied, wandering among the desks and carefully observing the paintings.

«Don't you have any other hypotheses, da Vinci?», Giuliano insisted, looking around.

«Food and beverages, for example », muttered the artist, quite annoyed by all those protests and objections. «Nico, would you mind helping with that?», he then asked, in a clearly rhetorical question: another minute with Lorenzo's younger brother and he would no longer answer for his actions.

«Of course, Maestro», the young apprentice diligently replied, walking towards another room with Giuliano following him.

Finally alone, Leonardo came back to focus completely on the nuns' paintings, all characterized by dark and violent hues and images of Hell and the Devil. He leaned closer to one in particular and stood motionless for a few seconds to examine it, before bowing his head and licking it for its entire length.

He made a disgusted grimace and spat here and there, but his attention immediately returned to the picture, with a disappointed and annoyed expression.

«I thought the pigments might contain too much mercury. But, no», he murmured softly, reasoning to himself.

«And you would be the only one able to find the Book?»

Da Vinci jumped at that voice, even more realizing that he had been able to recognize it instantly. He turned immediately to the door, and his breath nearly stopped in his throat as he saw the Countess Riario leaning against the jamb, her arms folded across her chest.

Except for the skeptical and vaguely disgusted expression, in all probability caused by having seen him lick a painting, the artist remembered every single detail of her appearance, even the smallest. He could not deny a note of disappointment for the Vatican uniform, far less tantalizing than the dress she had worn at the banquet, but even in those clothes she was terribly charming.

Although, for his tastes, there were far too many layers of fabric wrapped around her body: the high-necked shirt, the elegantly knotted silk scarf, the jacket with the Church symbol sewn on the chest, the leather gloves, pants and boots... All strictly black like the night.

He would have liked to tell to himself that those masculine robes, combined with the gathered hair, undermined her beauty, but he also had to change his mind about that: none of that could have ever compromised her charm, nor would it have extinguished her spark, which he immediately recognized in her eyes.

«Countess», he murmured, recovering at least a composed posture.

«_Artista_», Gemma replied, abandoning her puzzled expression only to return to her characteristic glance, lively and smart.

«May I ask you, Countess, why are you here?», Leonardo asked, hoping that the perplexity in the tone of his voice masked the appreciation for her presence.

«I could ask you the same question, _artista_», the young woman retorted, taking a few steps in the study, her hands elegantly joined in front of her. «I didn't know you were a votary of the Lord».

«I am not, in fact», he promptly objected, with a suspicious expression.

«Are you looking for something to taste?», Gemma asked then, indicating with a nod of the head the painting that the artist had licked just before.

Da Vinci instead wondered if he was not hallucinating too, because he would have sworn that that _taste_ had been deliciously filled with malice, almost an... invitation.

He had to blink several times to regain enough clarity to continue the conversation.

«I'm trying to understand the cause of this epidemic», he explained, with as much professionalism as possible.

«Licking the paintings?», the countess asked again, with the same skepticism.

«I was checking whether or not they contained mercury. The symptoms of mercury intoxication are very similar to those of the affected nuns».

«Then you omitted to be a doctor in your rich presentation at the banquet», Gemma commented, regaining all her malice, in the tone of her voice as in her gaze. «Do you remember?», she then asked, with a clearly false perplexity, all meant on teasing him. And Leonardo's suddenly dry throat was a confirmation of that.

«I delight in practicing medicine sometimes, but I don't consider myself a doctor», the artist murmured, his voice suddenly weak.

He didn't have to think about it. He shouldn't have thought about that dress, about that hair left loose, about how close she had come to his face... He just didn't have to.

«You could also have told me about this», Gemma replied, thus increasing the shot. «Did something distract you, by any chance?»

And da Vinci had to bite his tongue to not answer _Yes_ instantly.

His only salvation was to move the conversation about her, as much as he would have liked to continue that game of provocations. Rationally, the most pressing priority was to understand the reason for her arrival at the convent.

«You now appear distracted too. You forgot to answer my question», the artist observed. «Or maybe you don't want to do it?», he added, crossing his arms over his chest and studying her carefully. «Are you trying to mislead me on purpose?»

«Who? Me? I would never dare », the countess answered naturally, not at all disturbed.

«Yet you hesitate to answer my question», Leonardo replied.

«The abbess of the convent sent a request for help to the Vatican», Gemma said calmly and simply, starting to wander around the study. «And I, as niece of the Pope and humble servant of God, certainly could not deny her my assistance», she added with the naivest of expressions, as she slowly began to pull one of her leather gloves off her hand.

If he hadn't known her at that banquet, if he hadn't seen how much her gaze was capable of completely destabilizing him, he could even have believed her, but it was enough for him to remember the veil of malice that had struck him from the first second to understand that, at that precise moment, her pure and harmless look was only an act.

«Sure, sure», he commented, with no little sarcasm. «First someone poisons these poor nuns, then you come here with the excuse of offering your services to the abbess», he reasoned aloud. «If before mine was only a suspect, with your presence here it has become a certainty».

A smile almost slipped at Gemma at those words. If the artist really thought that an accusation full of poison was enough to scare her, he still had a lot to learn.

«I am a candid and innocent soul, such actions aren't like me», the young woman replied, bringing her hand free from the glove to the height of the heart, as if those words had just wounded her.

«Strange, you gave me the exact opposite idea», the artist murmured, with a half-smile for that scene.

The countess also felt vaguely amused and, to cover it up, she started to look around the room. Her eyes fell on a small wooden bowl filled with what, at a quick glance, looked like a fruit cream.

«Our previous meeting led me to get an idea-...», the artist said, but he never came to the end of the sentence, because Gemma had touched with a finger what was contained in the bowl and then she had brought it to her lips.

Leonardo forgot everything else in that room, his attention captured only and exclusively by the gesture made by Gemma, the gaze fixed on her lips, the growing desire to reach her and to have him the pleasure of making that tasting.

It was very difficult for the countess to hold an amused smile back, but she kept a mask of indifference and fake perplexity undeterred.

«Please, go ahead. I am listening», she murmured, innocently.

But in response she got nothing more than some stammered monosyllable, nor did she get the Florentine guy's gaze on her eyes, rather than on her lips.

«Uh…», Leonardo murmured after quite a period of time, quickly blinking to regain contact with reality.

«Did someone bite your tongue, _artista_?», Gemma asked, with a mischievous glance.

«Can you do it again?», the artist said immediately, without having the time to wonder how appropriate such a request was.

«Bite you?», she asked with a puzzled look, e Leonardo took the opportunity immediately just to get out of that state of hypnosis.

«I fear that I would end up poisoned by your sarcasm», he answered promptly.

Still, Gemma surprised him again, taking on a vaguely sorry expression.

«What a pity. It could have turned out to be.…», but her mischievous smile was not long in reappearing. «… pleasant», she added, in a low and velvety voice.

«Are you trying to distract me, Countess?», Leonardo asked, but his gaze had not moved from her lips yet. «You should know that your tactic has no effect on me», he continued, but more than a statement it sounded like an attempt to convince himself.

«Oh, no, I would never dare», Gemma replied, a moment before touching the content of the bowl with her finger again and bringing it to her lips, making the artist risk a heart attack. «Especially ... when I don't find any interest by the other side».

«No, in fact, I don't have the slightest interest in you», Leonardo murmured, in a hoarse voice. «These tricks have no effect on me», yet his attention showed no sign of wanting to loosen its grip on her or on that provocative gesture.

«It is a real displeasure», the young woman replied, shrugging. «Because I'm terribly good. In this and in much, much more».

«So, out of simple curiosity…», the artist began, drawing on all his acting skills to pretend to be selfless. «How would have your persuasive tactic continued?»

«Simple curiosity?»

«Simple curiosity».

«I would never have allowed myself to break the limits of what is appropriate», Gemma said, her gaze fixed on the artist's eyes as her hands fumbled to take off the other glove. «I would simply have told you about the advantages and the disadvantages of my offer…», she went on, taking a few steps closer. «…the unpleasant consequences of a refusal…», and her long, tapered fingers gently loosened the knot of the scarf. «...and the rewards of an alliance», she concluded, coming to a breath from his face.

«Just... this?», was what Leonardo managed to say, with a whisper.

«For what concerns verbal communication», Gemma pointed out, increasing the shot.

«Verbal… communication...», repeated the artist, without bothering to conceal how insistently he was observing her lips. «It seems like a great idea».

«I believe that too», the countess agreed. «Although I have a real penchant for everything that does not include words», she added, her voice reduced to a hoarse whisper.

«A real penchant…», Leonardo repeated in his last glimmer of lucidity, before saying goodbye to all his self-control and leaning towards her lips, no intention other than kissing her.

But at the last moment, Gemma moved away from him, leaving him, metaphorically and literally, high and dry.

«But you said that nothing like that affects you, so…», she reasoned aloud, with fake perplexity.

«That's right…», Leonardo murmured, taking advantage of that departure to restore his demeanor. As much as he promised to himself to stay focused, he had succumbed, just like a kid at his first crush.

Moving his gaze, however, his attention was captured by the arm of the countess, now almost completely far away from him and directed elsewhere. Perhaps out of curiosity, perhaps because of the hurt pride, perhaps simply still far from the lucidity he needed to avoid nonsense, but he could not resist.

He grabbed her wrist, careful not to hurt her but decided enough to stop her where she was, and he pulled her towards him, then pushing her with her back against the nearest wall and blocking her every escape by pressing his body against hers.

He barely noticed a trail of surprise in her expression, and he saw only a satisfied look that was tacitly challenging him. He knew that that move was, in every way, a mistake, because he was giving her exactly what she wanted: the confirmation of having a power over him, a power not at all balanced.

«And does it affect you, instead?», he whispered, an inch away from her lips.

«What do you think of it?», Gemma replied, without any trace of disturbance, and Leonardo immediately recognized the bitter taste of disappointment in his mouth.

«That we are more alike than it might seem at first glance», the artist murmured, taking a few steps back and finally letting go of her.

«What a pity. Opposites are said to attract each other», the Countess commented, carefully studying his reaction.

«Even the similar ones, however, have a certain complicity», da Vinci replied, striving to chase away disappointment and returning to a more familiar ground: provocations.

«Do you believe my soul is any similar to yours?»

«Certainly. We pursue the same goals, and we both have no intention of stopping in front of anything in order to achieve them», Leonardo explained, his gaze fixed on the countess'.

«I agree with you on this», Gemma agreed, nodding, and the artist's mind was free to return to focus on the real reason that had brought him to that convent.

«Instead, what about your involvement in this alleged demonic possession? Are you going to deny being part of this plan?», he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

«Absolutely not».

And for the umpteenth time, Leonardo was, to say the least, surprised.

«So, you do admit that you know what the real cause of the epidemic is?», he tried again, choosing the words carefully with the belief that they would have been too extreme to receive an affirmative answer.

«I confirm», Gemma replied calmly, and the artist was one step away from opening his mouth wide in surprise.

Seeing him so surprised, the countess continued the conversation by herself.

«You seem to have the fate of these poor victims very much at heart. The least I can do is offer you a chance to save them», she added with extreme zeal, as she moved from the wall and leaned her back against one of the desks.

Although he was damned tempted to believe her, thanks also to that apparently sincere expression, da Vinci forced himself to think objectively, and to remember to himself that he was talking to Pope Sixtus's niece.

«And in exchange what do you want?», he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

«The key», was her response, without hesitation, and an amused laugh slipped at Leonardo.

«Predictable», he commented, finally recognizing the true intentions behind that offer.

«Determined», she corrected him immediately, with a proud smile. «I don't lose sight of the target so easily».

«And what would your ultimate target be?», da Vinci asked, his arms still crossed as he took a few steps towards her. «Me or the key?», he went on, with a smug smile.

«The Book of Leaves», Gemma immediately replied. «And finding it, unfortunately, requires both the key and your knowledge», she went on, with mock displeasure.

«So you admit that you need me», Leonardo tried again.

«I need your knowledge. Do I have to repeat it a third time?», the young woman asked, with an attitude so conceited to validate the artist's thesis that theirs were very alike souls. «Believe me, if I found a way to exorcise them from you, I would gladly do without your annoying presence».

«But until you find this way, you will be forced to use my body too», he promptly replied, raising his eyebrows maliciously.

In response, Gemma began to torture her lower lip with her teeth, undermining that little bit of self-control that Leonardo had just found.

«Have I ever mentioned the _innumerable_ ways in which a human being can be silenced?», she asked, lowering her voice.

«I would have one in particular in my mind», da Vinci murmured, his voice reduced to a whisper as he shortened, again, the distances.

«It wouldn't work», the countess promptly replied, and there was no way that that phrase was something different than a provocation, far from the limits of what was appropriate.

«And how can you be so sure about it?», he investigated, his mind already distant and lost in scenarios anything but chaste and innocent, his hands guided by a force of their own as they slowly squeezed Gemma close to him, girding her at the height of her waist.

«Do you have a penchant for threats, _artista_?», the countess asked, in fake surprise.

«It depends on the type of threats, Countess», he retorted, carefully studying every detail of her face.

«You have not yet responded to my offer», the young woman pointed out to him, bowing her head slightly to the side, while her fingers slowly played with the string that Leonardo had on his neck.

«I don't find it entirely fair, maybe you should try to be more convincing», the artist murmured, sliding his gaze to her rosy lips.

No word reached his ears, in response, but on the other hand he felt, even too clearly, Gemma's hand going down to the key and continuing. Slowly. Even too slowly, in an excruciating torture.

Not even he, the most brilliant mind in Europe, was able to explain what was holding him back from definitively canceling that distance and resuming from where they left off at the banquet. The most plausible reason was the growing expectation, while he felt very well which path the Countess' fingers were following, far from the intention of stopping at the limit of what was appropriate. And they didn't stop, not until their target.

And at that point, the artist's breath stopped in his throat.

Leonardo knew it and Gemma knew it. She had him in her hand. In every way.

And then, without any warning, she tightened her grip. Not that much to hurt him, but enough to make him gasp in surprise, thus leaving the hold around her body.

«I dictate the terms, da Vinci», Gemma murmured, close to his lips, before stepping away and leaving the room.


	7. Chapter 7 - The Fool

_**The Vatican Jewel  
**_**Chapter 7 - The Fool **

In Tarots, the Fool's card indicates everything that goes beyond our understanding, it is the infinite, the abyss. It is the emptiness, the absolute nothingness that we shy away from because we don't understand it. It can be as much Nirvana as spiritual annihilation. It is passivity made person, irresponsibility that loses man and subjects him to slavery, especially material slavery.  
On the negative side, however, it indicates imbalances that lead to madness and error. It is being at the mercy of others and of the elements. It can be numbness, inability to recover and to realize their own mistakes.

That cry of terror took his breath away. Instinctively, Leonardo sprang towards the poor nun who had been crying and begging for mercy for hours, but when he reached her it was too late: in her eyes he saw nothing, just a tear rolling down her cheek and falling on the sheets, once white, now streaked with blood and pain.

Another victim of that contagion.

By then he had lost count, along with any intention of remembering exactly how many souls were paying for that absurd manipulation moved by the Church.

Feeling her throat closing in pain, Da Vinci realized he needed fresh air. Wobbly and uncertain on his own legs, the artist got to stand on his feet and he staggered to the door of the room, then he threw himself on it with all his might. The wooden door ceded under his weight, and it allowed him to reach the lodge which overlooked the internal courtyard of the convent.

The head still did not cooperate, victim of tremendous dizziness, and the fingers of the hands were increasingly numb, tingling. Leonardo had to tighten the balcony with all his strength to be able to stand up, while shaking his head energetically to try to find a minimum of clarity.

Instinctively he bit his lips, but in doing so he suddenly remembered the feeling of Vanessa's, cold and chapped by the disease, against his, still warm and soft. Just thinking about that kiss upset his stomach.

Every second that he was wasting without having new ideas on the possible cause of that contagion, was another second in which the disease progressed, tearing more and more souls from the life in the green earth of God.

Yeah, God...

His gaze wandered by itself, without having any control over it, and rested again on her, on that figure as delicate as fatal. Gemma was still at the convent, busy discussing with the abbess, while other nuns still miraculously healthy listened to her with all the admiration and devotion that was due to the Pope's niece.

Leonardo would never have been able to dispute her power over others, her extraordinary ability to subjugate anyone who had the pleasure of being able to listen to her voice and to her words. There, illuminated only by the delicate and cold light of the moon, the lips folded in a beautiful smile far from falsehood and manipulations… not even he could resist her.

But then he saw the gaze of the other nuns, their fear, their pain assisting helplessly in front of that tragedy, looking at the other sisters torn apart by suffering, and he felt in his mouth the bitter taste of disappointment.

He didn't even notice that he had left the lodge, or that he had descended the stairs leading to the courtyard. He woke up only when his hand made contact with the soft cloth of the countess' black jacket, his fingers firmly wrapped around her wrist as he pulled her out of that conversation with the abbess and dragged her away from her.

«I'll steal her from you for just a moment», he explained to the nun, with his characteristic arrogant smile.

He paid no attention to the confused gaze of the other sisters, nor did he care to find no disturbance in the countess' eyes, as at that moment as in other past talks.

He eyed the first corner of the courtyard secluded enough to allow them to speak without the hassle or intrusion of prying eyes, but he saw no reason to let go of Gemma's wrist.

«Have you changed your mind about my offer?», the young woman asked, without any trace of disturbance, an attitude as calm as unnerving, given the seriousness of the situation they were experiencing.

It was not in Leonardo's plans to burst out laughing, yet he had no control over that gesture, nor on the considerable dose of bitterness with which he did it. Simply, he laughed, looking around with disgust in his eyes.

«_Offer?_», he repeated, his lips still curled in that false smile. «Yours is a blackmail, plain and simple», he then said, turning serious and looking at her harshly.

«It is an exchange: something in exchange for something else», Gemma answered simply, without any trace of concern.

«An _exchange_ that is far from fair», da Vinci corrected her immediately.

«You are free to think of it as you prefer», she dismissed him, looking almost bored with that dispute. «But that won't affect the deal».

Leonardo had never been famous for his patience, because he surely had very little of it, but certainly the reputation of being totally unable to keep his opinions to himself was known by many.

In any case, he was an adult man and, however instinctive, he knew when it was time to speak and when to shut his mouth instead. Without a doubt, that particular conversation with Gemma was not the ideal place to give voice to all his thoughts, without any filter.

«You don't have a conscience, countess».

But clearly something had gone wrong.

« Don't you care, at all, that people who blindly believe in you and in your Holy Mother Church die?», he asked, with no little poison in his voice. «They are dedicating their lives to the God of whom your dear Church should be the connecting point here on earth, and in return what do they get? Only death for some absurd political manipulation of yours».

«Do you really have the shamelessness to preach _to me_ about responsibility for these deaths?», Gemma replied, and the calm that so distinguished her talks was no longer so omnipresent. «I offered you a solution, and I did it as soon as I arrived at the convent. But you refused, relying only on your so much vaunted genius», she continued, the temptation to cross her arms on her chest stopped only by Leonardo's grip. «If people died because you preferred to use that time to prove something to them and to yourself, don't you dare channel your frustration on me».

Whether it was simply the habit of being accused of sinning of arrogance, or that strange lack of inhibitions, but not one of his words had an effect on da Vinci.

«Those people died because you...», and saying it he raised his free hand and he pointed his index finger at her. «…you have poisoned them. And to deflect suspicions, you came here to bring your humble help».

Just thinking about how he had found Vanessa, just arrived at the convent, and like her many other innocent victims, he felt suffocated by suffering.

And a moment later, as if nothing had happened, Gemma had arrived at the monastery, with her immaculate uniform, her inscrutable mask and her subduing gaze. And he had fallen for it, completely.

«If you think I let me be manipulated by you, then you have understood absolutely nothing about me», he murmured through clenched teeth, finally beginning to understand that there was no trace of humanity in her.

«If you think it all comes down to something that simple, then you have understood absolutely nothing», Gemma hissed, feeling a sensation that she hadn't felt for a long time, and anything but pleasant: the effort to keep her emotions in check. Emotions that, at that moment, were far from silent.

But if there was something capable of hitting a nerve, it was definitely broaching the topic about her life. Just talking about her past was worse than those accusations.

«How can you even look at yourself in the mirror?», Leonardo murmured, letting go of her wrist, and he did nothing to conceal the expression of revulsion and disgust which he was observing her with. «Don't you feel even a bit of remorse for what you are doing to these women?», he asked again, struggling to imagine how it was possible to do cruelty of that kind without any regret. «They are nuns, harmless nuns who only had the misfortune to get in your way».

Leonardo's words were steeped in disgust towards the person in front of him, but they concealed much more: disappointment.

Even before knowing her personally, da Vinci knew that the Countess Riario would have been the embodiment of his bad luck, the weapon sent by the Vatican to hinder his search, moved by the fear that humanity could evolve and turn into something that Church would no longer be able to control.

Yet, a small part of him, the most hopeful, trusted that there was always good in everyone, even in the hearts most corrupted by wickedness, even in the heart of the one who had been raised and trained to be a war machine embodied in the body of a person.

The young woman he was looking at with so much contempt was for him the proof that he was not infallible, and he had to surrender to reality: not everyone can be saved. As much as he had hoped for.

« I am convinced that you cannot experience feelings like remorse or pity. How many other people have you made suffer or have died because of some manipulation of yours? Women? Elderly people? Children?», Leonardo continued, without the slightest scruple in spitting so much poison on her. «I bet you never stopped for a moment to do a soul searching while some innocent died because of you».

He barely had time to see a twinkle in the dark, before finding Gemma's cold sword pressed against his neck, this close from cutting his throat.

And finally he fell silent.

The countess didn't even waste time scolding herself for such a loss of control over herself and her emotions. Simply, she wouldn't have been able to listen to anything else, not without the atrocious suffering that was already devouring her heart.

«Do you think you have figured out everything about me from a couple of conversations?», the young woman hissed, applying a little more pressure on the blade. «You. Know. Nothing», she said to him, carefully chanting every word, but her voice was no longer so firm.

Just enough time to notice that her vision was slightly blurred, and she blinked immediately to wipe away the tears from her eyes. She had already got on the defensive by threatening him with a weapon: she could not afford to reveal anything else, not even the smallest crack.

It was a far from heartening signal to see him grin satisfied, with his typical smirk imbued with arrogance.

«I hit the right spots, apparently», he commented, pleased.

For Gemma they weren't just words, but yet another slap.

«Another word different from _Accepted_ or _Declined_, and I am ready to pierce your neck», the Countess warned him, hiding behind her threatening tone all the fear that the artist would investigate further in that small yield.

«You have a conscience, then», da Vinci affirmed with something satisfied and, below, relieved. «You wouldn't have reacted this way otherwise», he continued, watching her from head to toe.

Under the weight of that gaze, of that complacency for bringing to the surface a side of her that no one should ever have touched, Gemma gave in and took a step back.

«You try to hide it and to deny it in every way, yet I managed to bring it out», he went on undaunted, seeing in that little escape another confirmation of his theory.

And he saw another one, when a trail of terror shot into the young woman's gaze, a gaze that immediately afterwards moved elsewhere, anywhere around them, as long as not to return to the artist's eyes.

«That's enough, da Vinci», the countess hissed with a thread of voice, tightening her grip so tightly around the hilt of the sword that the black leather of her gloves was deprived of any creases.

The more he observed that scene, the more Leonardo's smirk went out. Lost the taste of victory, the artist felt almost lost, as if he was no longer so sure that he had achieved what he really wanted. He wanted to destabilize her, he wanted to test her self-control, in an extreme attempt to probe the limits of her conscience; yet he never imagined achieving such a result.

Sensing only silence, Gemma drew on all her strength to put on the mask of the cold and inscrutable countess Riario again, and only when she was sure of having succeeded she raised her head.

«You are still in time to accept the exchange», she murmured, and even if her expression had returned her usual one, the same could not be said about the voice.

The artist no longer paid attention to anything other than her eyes, trying to see in them something different from that detachment on which Gemma relied so much to keep others at distance.

He wished he could take a step forward, get closer, try again to smite her. Whether it was to win over her as an enemy, or for another reason, he wasn't sure either.

At the last moment, however, his gaze was captured by one of the sisters of the convent, her cheeks streaked with tears and her breath broken by crying, as she headed towards the statue of Saint Anthony. And when he saw her bowing to the ground and leaving a kiss on the feet of the sculpture, he suddenly saw the flame of hope rekindle.

«Maybe there will be no need to accept your exchange», he murmured, before rushing to the patron saint.


	8. Chapter 8 - The Hanged Man

_**The Vatican Jewel  
**_**Chapter 8 - The Hanged Man**

* * *

In tarots, the card of the Hanged Man represents the exaltation of the spirituality that dominates the physicality. It can indicate mysticism, devotion to God. It can mean the embrace with higher philosophies that transcend the human, forgetting the material. It indicates a selfless person who knows how to sacrifice himself for a creed, an ideal. It can also indicate a person of faith, a priest, as well as a dreamer, a utopian.  
On the negative side, however, it indicates who feeds on illusions, who designs without knowing how to achieve, who is loved without knowing how to return.

* * *

«If we use this, we may still be able to save those who've fallen sick», Leonardo murmured, giving the nun instructions to heal the sisters from poisoning.

«Well done, da Vinci», Giuliano intervened, but the artist's response was no more than a faint nod.

«Thank you, Maestro», added the abbess, with a smile full of gratitude.

On the contrary, Lupo Mercuri and his henchmen gave the prodigious Florentine one last disgruntled look, before striding out of the convent dormitory. Seeing them go at full speed, Leonardo was unable to hold back a satisfied laugh and, after all, of relief.

But he had to admit that, without their dark presence in that room, the air was decidedly lighter and more breathable, so much that he felt his lungs implore him for more, and the artist indulged that need. He let his arms drop to his sides, he raised his head to the ceiling and he took a deep breath.

He closed his eyes and he felt the freshness of the morning letting him free from the fears and the anxieties of those last days at the convent, and his lips curled into a smile.

When he opened his eyes, however, something had changed.

_The convent room was empty. Completely. _

_No more wooden beds, no more bloody sheets, and no more people lying on those beds._

_Silence, and nothing else, was filling the air. _

_Leonardo tried to move, but his muscles were suddenly sore, heavy as rocks, and even taking a step required an inhuman effort. _

_He looked up towards one of the windows, to see something out of them, but he only saw the emptiness. The Florentine countryside was gone, swallowed by a dense fog white as snow, and there was no possibility of seeing anything but that candor. _

_When he tried to move again, his legs gave op to the effort, the energies left him, and he lost consciousness. _

_He could not say how much time had passed. Maybe days. Maybe a blink._

_But when he managed to wake up, he was no longer in the convent, but in a place unknown to him. _

_Da Vinci lied down on the ground, his cheek pressed against a smooth and cold as ice floor. But the forces seemed to have returned, and the artist managed to settle down and to drag himself to one of the walls of that mysterious room, in order to have the wall as a support behind him while he waited for the dizziness to cease. _

_Even from that perspective, however, he could not recognize that place, or at least understand what it was. _

_The walls were pitch black, polished to perfection but dark enough to suffocate even the faintest ray of light. Tall, imposing, they rose as if they wanted to reach the sky, but all they could reach was the ceiling of that room, which was also gloomy and dark._

_A faint metallic tinkling captured the attention of the artist, who immediately turned in the direction of that sound. He sprang to his feet, which turned out to be a serious mistake for his already precarious balance, but luckily the wall was again his support._

_Regaining strength, he staggered a few steps, but he was determined to follow that sound. He felt his eyes burn and he tightened them tightly to appease the flames. _

_When he opened them again, he was somewhere else. _

_That new room, unlike the previous one, was completely white._

_The walls, the floor, the ceiling, the furniture... everything was made of marble, of a marble so white that it could almost blind it. _

_But it wasn't the only difference from the previous room. _

_He was no longer alone. _

_In the center of the hall, a mysterious figure sat on a slender stool, bent over a table. Whatever action he was taking, it was hidden under a black velvet cloth, along with the identity of that unknown person. _

_That metallic tinkling rang again across the room, louder and clearer than before, and Leonardo understood, observing the movements under the cloak, that it came precisely from the mysterious individual. _

_The artist took a few steps in that direction, but shortly afterwards another actor entered the scene. _

_It was not, however, a distinct and defined figure as the first one. On the contrary, their profile was evanescent, black smoke that thinned along its contours, and left behind a trail of ash and dust. _

_But it had the features of a person, of a tall and robust man, who moved decisively and safely towards the side of the table opposite the seated person._

_From that dense and gloomy blanket, however, Leonardo clearly recognized the shape of a hand: bony, skeletal, long dirty with carbon nails. And squeezed between those skinless fingers, he clutched a heart. A still beating heart. _

_A laugh echoed between the white walls, but full of evil, a sadistic, cruel, perverse laugh. _

_Instinctively, da Vinci took a step back, and his gaze wandered immediately to that mysterious figure bent over the table. For some reason, he prayed that it would run away too, whoever he or she was, but nothing like that happened. _

_All that person did was get to its feet, without leaving the desk. On the contrary, it began to walk around the table with slow and tired steps, and at each movement the tinkling rang. _

_Only then, Leonardo saw them. _

_Massive iron chains followed every move, every gesture, now no longer concealed by black velvet, and observing them da Vinci wondered how it was possible to drag them, so heavy they seemed. _

_Despite everything, the figure reached the other side of the table, where a golden balance had magically appeared, and the shiny white marble reflected it like a mirror. The other presence, the cloud of black smoke, reached out to one of the dishes and let the heart drop. _

_The scale mechanism activated, the first plate went down and its counterpart responded. _

_And on it, the second key. _

_Under the black velvet, another hand approached the balance. Candid, graceful, but uncertain and trembling. _

_Before it could touch the key, a tear fell on the plate. _

_In those few seconds, da Vinci took courage and approached those mysterious presences, his gaze wandering from the scales to the black cloak. _

_Then, when the hand reached the key, placed on the plate, the velvet slipped away from the head, revealing the identity of the poor chained soul. _

_Its eyes hollow and empty, its gaze lost, its strength drained... but it was her. _

_It was Gemma._

Leonardo suddenly opened his eyes, inhaling all the air he could.

He tried to get out of bed, but he felt himself yanking by something, a tightening around his wrists which prevented him from moving.

«I was wrong…», he murmured, with a faint voice. «I was wrong… I was wrong…», he repeated over and over again.

He was awake, but the image of that face, so empty and lost, deprived of any emotion or vitality, had struck him more than he wanted to admit.

If he then thought about that discussion, about those words full of poison and disgust dictated only by the infection, he felt even worse. Because he had seen it in her gaze: that was not the truth. He wasn't even close to it.

He heard the voices of Nico and Giuliano calling him, speaking to him, asking him questions, but he could not answer, his mind was thinking of nothing but a person.

A young woman who, without his knowledge, was standing right outside, just next to the dormitory door.

Gemma had heard everything and, as much as she tried to deny it, a sigh of relief had escaped from her lips as soon as she was sure that Leonardo had survived the infection.

Before giving herself the time to think it, though, she shook her head and she walked away. She had stayed too long, and the trip to Rome would have been lengthy. Having to return to the Vatican and to report to the Pope that the plan had failed… it wouldn't have been easy. She went down the stairs to the courtyard with a gradually slower step, at the thought of what would have awaited her once she had crossed the door and left the convent.

Reaching the cloister, however, her gaze was captured by the statue of Saint Anthony, the same sculpture that had been the intermediary for the poison and the instrument of contagion.

She knew that it was a bad idea, that if any of her collaborators had seen her strange questions would have arisen, and that she should not have thought about it in the first place, but it was stronger than any common sense.

Slowly, she reached the small stone podium, framed by a modest arch of rough bricks and by some climbing plants.

She folded her hands in her lap, she looked up at the patron saint's face, and slowly knelt in front of his statue. Her face lost any trace of arrogance or pride, and a veil of melancholy fell in their place.

Her mind drifted away from everything: from Rome, from Florence, from the Pope, from her mission, even from Leonardo.

From everything but a thought. A person.

And to that person she addressed her prayer.


	9. Chapter 9 - The High Priestess

_**The Vatican Jewel**_

**Chapter 9 - The High Priestess**

* * *

In tarots, the High Priestess' card indicates knowledge. The High Priestess is a spiritual teacher, kindness, generosity. The figure contains moral suggestions and it exerts a suggestive influence on thought. It reveals functions that confer prestige, it speaks of the priesthood, of metaphysics.  
On the negative side, however, it indicates that negativities will become immorality.

* * *

«Countess Riario will advance from the south through the Valdarno Valley», Commander Quattrone explained, accompanying the Magnifico beyond the walls. «We'll place weapons on all sides, but the majority will meet his men here».

«We'll be outnumbered», Lorenzo objected, observing the defenses with disappointment.

«Well, they'll be outgunned», Leonardo intruded, quickly descending into the courtyard.

«With ten guns? Are you certain?», it was the skeptical response of the first citizen of Florence.

«We're casting more muskets», the artist tried to reassure him, with a bit of humility instead of his usually swaggering attitude.

He knew very well, as all the other soldiers around him did, that Rome was slowly preparing its attack through many small but clever subterfuges, and meeting on the battlefield was certainly not an excuse to have a chat. All the actions of the Holy City shouted war, it was only a matter of time.

«I promise you, you'll never have to fire them», da Vinci tried carefully.

That it was what he actually intended to say, he was the first one to have some doubts. Perhaps, rather than a reassurance for Lorenzo, he wanted it to be a reassurance for himself, a hope.

If he closed his eyes, he could still see many small fragments of what happened at the convent of Sant'Antonio, a few days before. Despite trying to repeat to himself that the blame for what happened was all due to poison and contagion, his conscience did not want to give him peace.

He had said horrible things to her, accused her of the most evil and ruthless deeds, and what was worse, of always acting without guilt.

Maybe in that precise situation, with the cold Vatican sword pointed at his throat and the poison circulating in his body, he hadn't noticed or paid enough attention to it. But since he was healed, he kept seeing her: the face deprived of her mask of apathy and indifference, the watery eyes and the tears that were about to fall off.

He believed he was the most brilliant mind in Europe, yet he hadn't been able to see something so obvious: there was so much more that he didn't know, far beyond that reputation as a cold and ruthless soldier.

Nonetheless, the Magnifico would have cut his tongue just to hear him try to defend her, which is why the artist wisely chose to shut up and to pretend to be condescending.

«Sometimes, when all your enemy knows is killing…», he began, silencing that _As if it were true_ that was so pressing to leave his lips. «…a simple deception can suffice», he tried. The most veiled way possible to suggest another way of dealing.

The grin of superiority that Lorenzo shot at him, however, destroyed all his hope.

«Countess Riario is far is far more clever than you think, da Vinci», he hissed, as if he was talking to a naive child.

_I know it very well_, Leonardo would have liked to answer, but again he chose to bite his tongue.

«Your wit won't get us out of this one. Only your weapons will, and I promise you, they will fire», he silenced him definitively, before passing him and heading for his horse.

The artist should have agreed with him: defending Florence was the priority, at any cost, and, even more so, against an enemy like the Vatican.

But then why, at the thought of attacking and hurting Gemma, he felt something inside of him breaking?

With a horse ride so elegant that it could be called divine, Countess Riario was travelling through the green fields of the Tuscan countryside, approaching Florence with all the calm that the leadership of the Vatican army could afford.

Her army, right behind her, followed her with the same slowness, silent and loyal to duty. Most of the soldiers had smirked on their faces, to the idea of the easy victory that they would have won shortly thereafter.

As much as that evening at the banquet she had fun teasing Leonardo without making her name known, the countess had not lost sight of the target. Leaving the party at the palace, she had instructed some of her collaborators to follow the artist the next day, the day after that and the day after that again. Nobody was to lose sight of him and, much less, to return to her without useful information.

Luckily, Grunwald had found traces of an agreement between the engineer and the Magnifico to meet at dawn in a small valley far from Florence. Not wanting to leave anything to chance, Gemma had armed herself with her escort and had gone to the meeting place, in a sheltered and hidden place but that still allowed her to keep an eye on the situation.

As if she had been blessed by fortune, she had witnessed nothing less than the test of Leonardo's weapons, and she hadn't overlooked the slightest detail. Also, keeping in mind the information escaped to Giuliano, at the convent, her advantage was considerable.

«We are approaching», one of the guards told her, just behind her.

More than giving her information, he had awakened her from her own thoughts, before they got out of her control.

«Be ready», the countess answered, raising her right hand to communicate the order to the rest of her collaborators.

How she managed to always be so elegant and graceful, even in such a simple movement, remained a mystery to everyone. And in particular for her most trusted collaborator, who had been able to witness such refinement much more often than anyone else in the army.

Not that the other guards had ever risked such an approach, since the last agent who had attempted to cross the bounds of what was consonant had ended up among the white voices of the Vatican choir.

Since then, anyone in there with a minimum of survival instincts wisely limited himself to private and very silent thoughts. In honor of her name, Gemma was nothing but an unattainable treasure. A splendid, precious and brilliant treasure, but unattainable.

For anyone.

«Countess?», Grunwald called her, slightly accelerating the horse's pace in order to reach her.

«Yes, captain?», she replied without turning to him, with her gaze fixed on the horizon.

«What's your plan?», he asked, cold and detached.

The fact that even on that occasion the countess had not bothered to turn her head was a source of irritation for him, but at the same time it allowed him a few more seconds to let his gaze linger on the features of her face, without taking the risk of her noticing it.

«To have him», Gemma replied abruptly, and she didn't even notice that she had tightened her horse's bridle more forcefully.

_«You don't have a conscience, countess»._

She didn't want to think about it again. She would have done or given anything to get some respite from those words that, for her, were like stabbed in her stomach.

_«Those people died because you… you have poisoned them»._

It was a good thing that he attributed such a reputation to her. It was all in favor of her cause. Sixtus had always taught her that a fighter has already won half the battle if his fame precedes him. But even knowing it, that bitterness in her mouth did not really want to disappear.

_«Don't you feel even a bit of remorse?»_

God, how wrong he was. He couldn't even begin to imagine it. But he would never find out.

_«I was wrong»._

Was he talking about her? Was he sincere? Was it just the effect of the poison still circulating, despite the treatments?

Those questions assailed her for days, and the last thing she could afford was to let herself be distracted by the enemy.

«We all have our demons», Gemma murmured thoughtfully, staring into space.

A few moments of silence followed, where her words remained in the air for a while longer.

«…I beg your pardon, countess?», Grunwald asked, after a few seconds of hesitation in surprise.

In response, the young woman tugged her bridle with a little more force, to direct her horse.

«Nobody is invincible, captain Grunwald », Gemma pointed out, finally turning to his direction. «Anyone has at least one weakness, and the first thing to do is to exploit it».

And in spite of himself, the man was only able to think that she had returned the same as always.

A deep breath, her hands clenched into fists, and Gemma regained control of herself. She even managed to put her mask of safety and arrogance back on, veined with that malice that always managed to conquer anyone who met her gaze.

When she reached the meeting point, Lorenzo and all his collaborators were already present. And among them, also Leonardo.

«Magnifico», the young woman murmured, with a smile of just courtesy. «Commander», she added, the tone of voice unchanged.

But at da Vinci, she lowered her voice further, and gave him a much more penetrating look.

«Artista», she said, in little more than a whisper.

And in spite of everything, the Florentine man felt that pain in the stomach again, the one that only she could provoke him. A bittersweet feeling, an irresistible temptation to say the least but towards which, unfortunately, he could not help but resist.

«War engineer, actually», Lorenzo intruded, trying to direct a look of that kind on him. And trying to distract everyone from the expression on the face of the artist, whom was close to fainting.

He hoped that recalling him with such a prestigious title would be enough to awaken him. As much as he understood that resisting a woman like her was an arduous undertaking, he counted on the fact that the security of Florence was more important.

Not getting answers other than silence, however, he attempted a less discreet approach, such as coughing vaguely to awaken him.

On the third attempt, however, Lorenzo's patience ran out.

«Da Vinci!», he exclaimed, and anyone would have perceived the tacit threat. Leonardo included who, because of the unexpected appeal, jumped; even his horse snorted, as if he could feel that nuisance.

«Is there any problem, artista?», the countess intruded, pretending to be perplexed.

In all honesty, though, she was savoring every second of that moment, of that demonstration of how much power she could have over him.

And after all, it was a reassurance: what happened during the alleged demonic possession had not affected what Leonardo felt for her. Not irreparably, at least.

«No problem at all», da Vinci muttered, straightening on his horse's back. If he had been honest, perhaps he would have admitted that the problem was the presence of all those people, besides the two of them, but it remained only his fantasy. «What about you, countess?», he then asked, to divert attention to her.

«Actually, yes», Gemma answered, without any trace of disturbance in her voice.

Certainly Leonardo would have expected a completely different answer, but by then he was learning not to be surprised so easily. Countess Riario was a constant surprise to him: the sooner he learned to live with it, the better it would be for his sanity.

Before giving him time to investigate, Gemma speeded up the process and continued the conversation alone.

«I was commissioned by the Holy Father in person to go to your city for a negotiation, but apparently…», and she deliberately left a few seconds of silence, filled only by her best expression of perplexity. «…the interlocutors I am having this conversation with are not particularly inclined to discuss an agreement».

He allowed herself a few more seconds, a moment to square from head to toe the recipients of her last sentence.

«Or better to say… they are not particularly _careful_», she specified, raising her eyebrows reproachfully.

And in spite of himself, the Magnifico also found himself sharing that same expression. Which was nothing short of a surprise: agreeing with one of the worst enemies of the city that he loved so much was certainly not an everyday thing.

But it was enough for him to take another look at Leonardo, and at his puppy dog face, to understand that it would have been impossible to blame Gemma Riario.

«We listen to you very carefully, countess», Lorenzo tried again, the burning pride could be easily perceived in every word.

However, the countess did not seem reassured enough to continue the conversation.

«Artista?», she called him again, in the same tone as many other previous meetings, and getting almost the same reaction in response.

If Leonardo could have chosen to ignore his common sense and to respond following only his instinct, he wouldn't hesitate to tell her that it was hanging from her lips, but luckily his rational side got the better of him.

«I listen to you», he replied, settling better on horseback.

Certainly the slight smile of victory that was painted on Gemma's lips, hearing that answer, did not help to keep his impulsiveness at bay.

«Very well», the young woman murmured.

That that last look to Leonardo, that close to exceeding the limits of what was appropriate, was aimed at emphasizing her authority or at giving herself a few more seconds of eye contact, she could not have said it herself.

«In an effort to avoid further bloodshed, His Eminence has extended a list of demands. First: Florence will formally embrace into its bosom Francesco Salviati as Archbishop of Pisa. Second, the Medici Bank will forgive the Holy See of all debts. And third, you will release certain artisans from their contractual obligations so that they might employ their gifts in service of the greater glory of His Holiness' new chapel.».

She could have kept talking for hours, and in all probability no one would have been able to divert attention from her words, from her voice, from her face. Not even the Swiss guards of his own army.

«And in which artist is His Holiness interested?», asked the Magnifico, more to continue the negotiation than for real interest: he already knew the answer.

However, the Countess Riario maintained that farce, and she looked in a pocket of her coat for a small sheet of paper carefully folded. She caressed it slowly with her fingers wrapped in black leather, smoothing it in her hands, and she pretended to read those names for the first time.

«One… Pietro Perugino», she began, carelessly. «One… Sandro Botticelli» and the _Oh, Jesus _muttered by Leonardo, like a five-year-old would have done, it wasn't much of a surprise. «Oh!», then exclaimed the young woman, as if she was really surprised. «Leonardo da Vinci».

A stranger might even have judged _innocent _the smile the countess was giving to her opponents, but even the Magnifico recognized the deception easily.

«How do you find the offer, artista?», Gemma finally asked, raising the eyebrows and treading especially on that nickname.

«Unattainable, countess».

«Oh», the young woman murmured, turning serious. «It is not the answer I wanted», she added, and perhaps for the first time in all that conversation a veil of threat could be heard in her voice.

«However, I fear it will be the only one you have», Leonardo went on.

If Zoroaster had been present, he would surely have had something to say about it.

«What a real pity», she replied, with a slight sigh. «This offer is very…», and she hesitated a few seconds, as if she was looking for the most suitable word. «…tempting».

Attracted by the spark of malice that was coloring the conversation, Leonardo abandoned his common sense for a moment and he let the next words come out of his mouth without filters.

«I fear it would be an unshared pleasure», he murmured, shrugging.

«Who can tell it, artista», the Countess replied, in a sigh of almost displeasure.

In that exchange of provocations and ambiguities, nobody seemed to notice the expression on the Magnifico's face, one step away from disgust. It was he himself who brought attention back to more important matters, with a not so discreet cough.

«And if we don't capitulate?», Lorenzo asked, returning to the threats made shortly before by the countess.

How quickly Gemma was able to go from joking to seriousness was part of her charm.

«Uh… my forces will occupy Florence», she sentenced, resolutely.

«My guns… will cut your men to ribbons», Leonardo intruded, who seemed to have regained his typical arrogance.

«Your fabled pipe organ muskets?», the countess continued. «Well, yes, they will cut down some of them, but not all», and the tone in which he had said those last three words, those present understood that the worst was coming. «Thanks to Giuliano's bumbling, I was aware that you possessed ten guns. And given that I've observed them close at hand, I simply deduced their cyclic rate of fire».

Just hearing Giuliano's name appear in that conversation, Lorenzo felt the blood boil in his veins in anger.

«Good heavens, Giuliano…», he let out, through gritted teeth.

«Oh, don't waste too much time hating your brother», the countess replied, with some carelessness. «I would have been perfectly able to obtain the same information from the engineer», she added, glancing at the person concerned.

«I'm starting to think that your arrogance even manages to outdo mine», Leonardo commented, in a flash of swagger.

«I had evidence of how true my claims are».

And so quickly that brazenness had appeared, just as quickly it disappeared, swept away by Gemma's latest statement. That tiny hint of a smile on the artist's lips disappeared, and even Lorenzo noticed the silence that followed.

«Da Vinci running out of words. I am amazed», he muttered, in a low voice.

«I hope it's proof of my skills, Magnifico», the young woman answered, alluding to a small nod of reverence with the head, even if there was no trace of the humility that should have accompanied that gesture.

And Leonardo could say with great certainty that what the countess demonstrated was all fiction. Because he was not like the others, he didn't stop at first impressions, at the masks that _she_ wanted the others to see.

In the wake of that awareness, he continued his defense.

«Let me object, countess. While you were studying me, I was studying you back», he said, with a half bold smile. «And I deduced a lot from our conversations», he added, lowering a little his voice.

The taste of satisfaction that he could taste was not unpleasant at all, finally seeing a small crack in Gemma's mask.

«And what have you deduced, artista?», she asked, with finally sincere interest and curiosity.

«If I reveal it to you, I will lose the advantage I have over you. And it does not seem the case to me, not now that you are getting ready to declare war in Florence».

«So, follow me to Rome», the countess proposed, resolutely. «We would avoid the attack on the city and continue our... conversation».

The way Gemma blinked her long, thick lashes was enough to make him understand that her real intent was to hit him in the stomach. And not only.

«Follow you to Rome? Where I would be considered as a heretic and get burned at the stake? Your offer is less and less attractive», the Florentine man retorted.

The thought of being burned alive seemed to him an excellent distraction to go back down to earth.

«The pope will have mercy on a poor confused artist», Gemma reassured him, with an almost sweet note in the tone of her voice. However, the expression on her face soon changed to perplexity. «Oh, wait…», she stopped them, gently lifting an index finger into the air to ensure the silence of those present. «Yours is one of the names on the list of artists requested by His Holiness».

Da Vinci began to understand where that speech would end up, and he did everything not to burst out laughing. He could try to defend himself as much as he wanted, yet Gemma always managed to turn the knife over to point it at him.

«You have no reason to fear the anger of the Holy Father», the countess concluded simply. «Have you not listened to the conditions I opened the negotiations with?», she asked, pretending to be doubtful. «Did anything distract you?»

«In fact…», Leonardo muttered, trying to take time. «…I was making calculations. To understand with how many men you will return to Rome, with your tail between your legs».

But the only reaction he got was a good laugh.

Gemma gently raised her right hand in the air and snapped her fingers. Behind her, one of the guards whistled and, within seconds, a tremendously large number of soldiers came out of the woods and began to approach.

«Let's pick up for a moment the information on your fabled pipe organ muskets», Gemma said, putting her hands together in front of her. «Between them, they're capable of launching thirty-three volleys, comprising three hundred thirty-three discharges. Now, let's assume that… two-thirds of them hit their mark. But what happens while your brave militiamen are reloading?», and she deliberately left a few seconds of silence, while her words remained in the air. «My remaining four hundred ride out. And, yes, we will use your precious Florentines… as target practice»

«You face a walled city, Riario. We can hold you off for six months at the least», the Magnifico defended himself.

But his voice was not as firm and sure as he would have liked.

At least he had managed to open his mouth and say something, unlike Leonardo. That reasoning had made clear the defects of his armory, and the prospect of a victory over Rome was less and less clear, as he imagined the scenario just described by Gemma.

Failure was becoming an increasingly real hypothesis, and for Leonardo it was a slash straight to the stomach.

«It takes but one person to open the gates from the inside. Do you… do you truly believe that in those months, the call of the Holy Father won't be honored by a single soul in Florence?»

In a gesture of grasping her horse's bridle, Countess Riario put an end to that conversation.

«You have twenty-four hours to ponder the Holy Father's offer. Enjoy your day».


End file.
